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THE LONG GALLERY 


BY 

EVA LATHBURY 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1909 


\ 



Copyright, igog, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
Published^ May, 1909 





THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 




LiBRARY of CONGRESS 
TwoCoDies Received 

MAY 241809 

„ j Copyriunt tntrt 4 

WfiUi 22, 1^)0'- 

Ai, 

AJ a C V 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Emerald Necklace 3 

II. Table Talk ... 13 

III. A Ladies" Battle 24 

IV. The Comedy of Protection 32 

V. Some of the Horrid Details of War ... 47 

VI. A Treaty is Signed but Rather Carelessly 

Sealed S3 

VII. A Haunted House 67 

VIII. The Tying of Knots 80 

IX. Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track . . .92 

X. Trespassers are Liable to be Prosecuted . . 102 

XI. On the Advisability of Destroying One"s Cor- 
respondence 116 

XII. A Castle in the Air 121 

XIII. The Face in the Gallery 132 

XIV. A Family Retainer 143 

XV. The Delicate and Difficult Art of Evasion . 155 

XVI. Dorset Comes into Property 164 

XVII. Dorset Comes into More Property . . .170 

XVIII. Fairies and Food 180 

XIX. Mist 190 

XX. The Man with the Scar 201 

XXL Advantages and Disadvantages of Early Rising 214 

XXII. A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern, by an 

Unknown Artist 223 

XXIH. The Virtue of the Mouse 238 

XXIV. Peter 248 


V 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER page 

XXV. The History of the Black Pearl .... 255 

XXVI. The Hour Before the Dawn 269 

XXVII. The Mouse Again 281 

XXVIII. A Lost Name 288 

XXIX. The Way All th^ Straws Were Blowing . . 298 

XXX. A Question of Fifty Pounds 305 

XXXI. A Question of More than Fifty Pounds . . 318 

XXXII. The Third and Last Demand 326 

XXXIII. The Case for the Defense 339 

XXXIV. Dream-People ^ . . . . . . .350 


THE LONG GALLERY 



CHAPTER I 


THE EMERALD NECKLACE 

All things are said to come to those who can afford to 
wait, but Lady Southern could not afford this luxury. 

An elaborate clock upon an equally elaborate mantel- 
piece struck seven, and she realized that now — if ever she 
must make an effort. ‘‘ Griselda,’’ she said, and tapped 
sharply with her foot upon the brass fender-rail in order 
to cover the slight tremolo in her plaintive voice. 

The figure on the low window-sill at the far end of the 
room turned listlessly. 

“ Time to dress, mama? ” 

‘‘ No, but time to stop this nonsense.’’ 

‘‘ What nonsense? ” the girl inquired, with a quick intake 
of breath that might denote anxiety or defiance. 

‘‘ You know very well,” said the elder lady, buckling to 
her task more confidently ; the fact is, you’ve been allowed 
to play the baby much too long. If your own common- 
sense doesn’t tell you it’s time to grow up, I must. What 
do you suppose I brought you here for ? ” 

Just to provoke me,” Griselda retorted, with heat of her 
own. It was my last term — the last week of it — and I was 
to play Rosalind in the break-up party, and you dragged me 
off here at a minute’s notice to this pompous old Mrs. Faw- 
cett’s nasty house which breathes of money, and planted me 
down among these stupid, sleepy people, and now I suppose 
you’re vexed because I won’t talk to them.” 

“ You needn’t talk to them all, Griselda.” 

‘‘ Mama, you’re going to be horrid.” 

“ I’m going to be frank, my dear. Don’t you know that 
we can’t afford to turn up our noses at our neighbors how- 


4 


The Emerald Necklace 

ever stupid they may be ? Don’t you know that there’s one 
way — and only one — by which we can recover our lost posi- 
tion? Don’t you know that Mr. Dorset made his first 
overtures to you and not to Alva Dane ? ” 

Well, he’s as poor as a rat.” 

For an instant Bertha Southern was completely non- 
plused. 

'' Was that the reason ” she began blankly, but a low 

thrill of melodious child laughter disposed all too speedily of 
her pleasant suspicion. 

Of course not. I can’t be bothered with pounds, shil- 
lings, and pence; but— you see— even if I hadn’t choked him 
off with my fit of the sulks, it wouldn’t have been any 
use.” 

Griselda, I’m going to tell you a secret.” 

Oh, mama, no. I don’t want it ; I couldn’t keep it.” 

But this particular one affects your whole future.” 

'' Bother my^ future,” said the young lady, leaving her 
seat and crossing to join her companion at the fireside. 

I’m sure I’m happy enough, or I should be if only Peter 
would give me that new mare of his ; I borrowed her yes- 
terday and she’s a little ripper, as indeed she ought to be ; — 
she’s grand-daughter to ‘ Starlight ’ and daughter to ‘ Wind- 
of-the-Hill ’ and ^ Buttercup.’ I can say the ten command- 
ments all right when I’m in church, but when I’m on her 
back I’m aching in every nerve to possess her.” 

Do what I tell you, and you shall have thoroughbreds 
of your own,” her mother said with decision. Listen to 
me. This young Dorset is a country product like yourself, 
and he’ll drift back there in spite of all this talk about 
Uganda.” 

But he’s going almost at once ; he told me so ; he may 
be called up to London any day — for orders, I suppose ; he’s 
going to be a Commissioner.” 

He may go to Uganda,” said her mother firmly, but 
he won’t commission out there very long.” 

''Why not?” Griselda asked, forgetful of her dislike of 
secrets. 


The Emerald Necklace 


5 

Because his elder brother can’t live the year out, and 
Harry will be recalled to take his place — and a nice little 
place it is: a charming Scotch estate in the heart of the 
country/’ 

‘‘ Who told you, mama ? ” 

‘‘ Annie Dorset herself. I met her in London in the 
spring, distracted, poor soul, because her husband had got 
his death-warrant and snapped his fingers at it; he even 
forbade her to speak of it.” 

'' And you tempted her to disobey ; you’re awfully clever, 
mama, but,” again her eye twinkled mischievously, ‘‘ there’s 
one point you’ve overlooked — no, to be strictly accurate — 
there are four — four jolly little kids, as Mr. Dorset called 
them himself.” 

Girls,” said Lady Southern, with soothing emphasis ; 
‘‘ girls — every one of them — and as incapable of saving their 
poor mother from penury as you were yourself, Griselda. 
I can’t but see,” she went on more gently, the finger of 
Providence in this aifair ; it seems to me more than coinci- 
dence. I have dropped out, but for you there is a chance ; 
the very same law that ousted you so cruelly now promises 
to reinstate you. I brought you here, I own it candidly, to 
meet this young man. It isn’t a grand marriage I’m advo- 
cating; there’s no title and no large income, but there’s a 
home of the exact quality you like and could adorn suit- 
ably.” 

‘‘ So he’s not an ineligible, after all,” said the girl, but it 
was evident her imagination was not following the other’s 
lead. “ And if Mrs. Fawcett knew what we know,” she 
added musingly, she might allow Alva to choose him.” 

‘‘ Griselda, you are very, very young. Don’t you know 
that Mrs. Fawcett can ask a very different position for her 
heiress than I can ask for you? Alva is the only child of 
Mrs. Fawcett’s only child — Emmy, who died at her birth; 
George Dane has remarried — an American — and lives over 
the water; and this great house and two others and good- 
ness knows how much money will all go to this girl ; young 
Dorset might just as well ask for the moon, and he’d have 


6 The Emerald Necklace 

been just as likely to do so if you’d behaved with common 
civility.” 

I know, but having once looked at Alva he won’t be 
able to look away again.” 

‘‘ That’s nonsense. Alva’s nothing but a pretty picture, 
and pictures may be moved from wall to wall.” Once more 
the clock chimed — the quarter this time — and a silence su- 
pervened. 

The woman on the wrong side of forty looked at the 
girl on the reckless side of nineteen with no consideration 
for the tie of blood between them, with no cry but that of 
baffled vanity in her heart. In this young face she could 
trace and retrace each delicate charm of which she had been 
gradually, pitilessly despoiled; it spelt for her the mirror 
of twenty years back before which the happiest hours 
of her existence had been spent and this god of her 
idolatry had played her false. Her cheeks had been round 
and rosy as Griselda’s, her eyes of the same limpid blue 
that so seldom survives childhood; her hair, black instead 
of brown, had evinced the same delightful tendency towards 
revolt, and, if her aspect had lacked the hint of complexity — 
the bizarre effect of russet upon a dead white skin — that 
lent to her daughter’s face an arresting quality, there are 
many who cavil at this physical incongruity and prefer the 
unadulterated brunette. 

Bertha Venner had assuredly been the recipient of general 
admiration and she had, as assuredly, weighed and meas- 
ured ; she had bullied what she had of blood and spirit ; she 
had staked her all on her powers of calculation, and she 
had lost. She had chosen George Southern from at least 
a dozen strings all offered more readily to her bow. George 
had been difficult, but she had secured him in spite of this 
reluctance, in spite of the unmistakable scars of warfare on 
his handsome face, in spite of the whisper of her so-called 
nearest and dearest friends, who did not hesitate to insinuate 
that a name other than her own haunted the heart of the 
young baronet. She had laughed airily enough, insisting 
that it was the name at once of a child and of an ad- 


The Emerald Necklace 7 

venturess — that it belonged to the history of all men of 
family and spirit. It certainly touched nothing that she 
herself wanted. It was the house, the name, the position, 
that she sought and took, not that chimerical dwelling in 
which his early emotions might have been bred and suffered. 
The wedding had been a hasty and informal affair owing 
to the sudden death of Sir George the elder, but the mourn- 
ing robes had been quickly laid aside and the reign of ex- 
travagance begun. But it was a reign short and sweet. 
After five years of childless marriage Griselda came to the 
empty nursery at The Court, but, alas, no little brother 
came to play with her or — what was infinitely more im- 
portant — to establish his mother's claim to this desirable 
new empire; and eight years later Sir George, putting his 
favorite mare at one of his own park fences, broke her back 
and his own and died a few hours after, whispering his last 
words — not to the hysterical wife or the little child he had 
just begun to notice and companion — but to an old servant 
who hurried to his bedside with the alacrity of a devoted 
family retainer. 

Time and the family lawyer proved to the widow the 
appalling nature of her loss. Ousted from her place 
among her husband's people, she cried the blue from her 
eyes and the bewitching curve from her cheeks and, thus 
handicapped, she made wild efforts to reinstate her fortunes 
by marriage. But her self-estimate was so ludicrously out 
of proportion to the general one, and her beauty waned so 
much more rapidly than did her ambition, that there was 
but little hope of a happy compromise. 

And always before her eyes there loomed the hateful 
necessity of launching upon the world this little daughter 
growing day by day into more assertive beauty. To dress 
Griselda suitably was bad enough, but to stand beside 
Griselda suitably dressed would be purgatory ; and her only 
chance of escape lay in disposing of the girl straight from 
her schoolroom to some man rich enough to provide a home 
but not rich enough to offer a fine London setting. 

And in Harry Dorset she had seen the very champion 


8 


The Emerald Necklace 


for this complicated cause and had tracked him and his 
unsuspected market-value to this luxurious country house, 
for Mrs. Fawcett was not, so it chanced, in a position to 
refuse her cool suggestion of a visit. She was herself 
engaged in intrigue and was anxious to marry her grand- 
daughter to Lady Southern’s nephew Peter, who, owing to 
the early deaths of his uncle and his father, was now in a 
position of some social importance. 

Dorset was often to be found filling an unimportant place 
in an important, or at least a comfortable, house, and it was 
little short of maddening to watch his decidedly marked 
advances treated by Griselda with uncompromising and 
fatal brusquerie. 

And yet the mother was afraid to speak. This child was 
such an unknown quantity — mysterious as the husband 
whose reserve she had never attempted to penetrate; but 
now, with the case at desperation point, nothing further 
could be lost by reticence, and something might, at this 
eleventh hour, be gained. Furtively she eyed the enemy, 
noting the advent of a certain intensity of feeling, for across 
the young mind a memory was passing likewise — the mem- 
ory of many lilac-scented notes — her mother’s weekly com- 
munications with her when at school, and she was recalling 
a nauseous breath of suspicion too disagreeable to be con- 
sciously entertained; invariably she had set her window 
wide at such moments to the shouts of her playfellows or 
the clean and pungent smell of the pines below it. ‘‘ Mama 
was a bit of a crank ” was all the summing-up she had till 
now allowed herself. She was a Venner — poor thing — not 
a Southern like herself and the fastidious men and women 
in the Long Gallery ‘‘ at home ” — for The Court was always 
‘‘ home ” in the privacy of Griselda’s thoughts — but to-night 
it looked as though mama and her peculiarities were not to 
be disposed of thus carelessly. 

‘‘ I’ve never quite made plain to you, dearest, the nature 
of our position.” 

Oh, must you ? ” 

You’re forcing me to, Griselda. I have tried so hard to 


The Emerald Necklace 


9 

spare you some of the ugly details that have shaped me into 
a person you can not but despise.’’ 

Despise? No, no.” 

You needn’t blush and shake your head; leaving you in 
ignorance it was inevitable. Wait,” she added, with grow- 
ing emphasis, till the shame of a false position has bitten 
as deeply into you — ^but, no, you shall do no such thing; 
you’ve had a chance and you’ve let it slip, but — it isn’t quite 
out of reach yet.” 

I don’t understand.” 

‘'Yes, you do. You’re by no means stupid, but you’re 
lazy, or else you’re afraid.” 

j^fraid ! I’m afraid of nothing. But — aren’t you asking 
me to do something mean? To take him away from, 
from ’’ 

When two people love one another,” Lady Southern in- 
terrupted, we stand aside, but these two do not ; Alva is 
indifferent; Dorset is piqued; and — ^you don’t dislike him, 
do you ? ” 

No — I like him, but — what’s the good? — ^he doesn’t look 
at me any more.” 

, ‘‘ That’s easily remedied. There are many different ways 

of calling people’s attention,” went on the wise woman, 
warming to her work, ‘‘^but I think — ^no, I’m sure — ^my 
emerald necklace will be the best one ” 

‘‘ Your emerald necklace? ” 

‘‘ You shall wear it, dear, to-night with your white muslin 
jfrock, and in ten minutes you won’t have to complain of 
inattention. Every woman in the room will have something 
disagreeable to say of you or me or the stones themselves, 
and, of course, every man will take up the cudgels for you.” 

‘‘ Won’t that be out of pity ? ” 

“ No, the pity comes later when you’ve lost your com- 
plexion ; when you’ve grown to my pattern. But never mind 
that story now ; we’re going to write you a happier one.” 

She left her seat before the fire and led the way to the 
dressing-table, and presently the two dark heads, so alike in 
contour, were bending over the shabby case in which lay 


lO 


The Emerald Necklace 


the remnants of Bertha Southern’s glory. The emeralds 
were a modern ornament; the seven large central stones 
composing it were wreathed in narrow frames of diamonds 
of a French floral pattern, intricate and graceful, and they 
were connected by a multitude of slender chains, alternate 
green and white. 

As the young girl looked at it her eyes too began to 
sparkle and her next protest was offered with a considerable 
diminution of vehemence. 

It’s nonsense, mama, he won’t look at it ; he prides 
himself — I’m sure he does — on his indifference to decora- 
tion.” 

‘'And I thought you prided yourself on your dram^vic 
talents.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“ That you complained just now because I took you away | 
from school, from your mimic stage ; well, don’t you under- ; 
stand that I offer you instead a real stage and a chief role on i 
it? Don’t you understand that there’s a drama of real life 
downstairs only waiting to be played and that nobody has 
the courage or the skill to set it going? Why not tamper 
with this interesting and halting situation instead of twid- 
dling your thumbs and sulking all day ? Why not alter and 
adjust? Why not dole out the parts and set those stupid 
people — as you rightly called them — into motion — into de- 
sirable motion? You’ve pluck, Griselda; you’ve a glib 
tongue and any amount of vitality. Turn it on like a cur- 
rent of electricity and watch the effect. I tell you it will be 
startling.” ■ 

Griselda was beginning to breathe quickly — to creep hesi- 1 
tatingly towards the spot her mother indicated — to find [ 
there various lovers of her childhood. Too inexperienced { 
to question very minutely the legal value of this invitation, 
she allowed certain encouraging ideas to penetrate her hesi- 
tation. He had looked at her first; it was her childish and 
persistent pout that had driven him to notice her rival ; and 
suppose her mother were right — suppose Alva were only | 
a picture after all, suppose it lay in her power to move that 


The Emerald Necklace 


1 1 

picture — to turn it with its face to the wall and its foolish 
canvas back towards the eye of the foolish devotee! And 
softly, seductively, the voice went on, striking each fasci- 
nating note of this new and intoxicating tune with masterly 
ingenuity. That poor girl has no power and no will to 
direct events. There she sits with her eternal and rather 
meaningless smile waiting for destiny to pour its treasures 
into her lap. Destiny will pour nothing into ours if we wait 
till Doomsday — but destiny has given you faculties, my dear, 
that make you independent. Is there no enchantment in the 
knowledge ? If I were you I should be ashamed to waste the 
few short years of power with which we women — some of us, 
that is — are endowed.’’ Eagerly she looked at Griselda and 
eagerly Griselda looked upon the vista opening out. Beside 
the natural impulse to violence of expression there was in 
her breast an unavowed but decided preference for this very 
man towards whom circumstance and her mother were 
urging her. Scarcely had he turned his back when her 
fancy began to flutter about him — to find in his looks and 
manners — even in his unwarrantable air of subdued self- 
importance — a charm she did not attempt to analyze very 
closely. She only knew that behind an incentive to laughter 
there lay an incentive to pity — to championship ; vaguely she 
read into his stiff yet graceful bearing a quarrel with for- 
tune — the defiance of a man at odds with his destiny. She 
looked from the necklace to her mother’s tense face, and her 
own broke up into an adorable smile. 

“ I’ll do it; yes, I will. I’ll stir them all up out of their 
sleep; anything’s better than this lethargy. They took my 
house,” she added, with increasing animation, ‘‘ but they left 
the soldier blood, and we’ll spill a little, just to test the 
color ; a wrong behind and a house and a horse in front ; oh, 
the fun of it ! — oh, the relief to have something to do, even 
if it’s only making a fool of oneself.” 

Her face and figure seemed to radiate optimism, and Lady 
Southern, regarding her, felt a thrill half jealous, half ec- 
static. Alva’s beauty paled before the vision of this full- 
blooded, gay-witted conspirator, and the point so lately 


12 


The Emerald Necklace 


regarded with desperation swam into sudden and clear view. 
Griselda would cut the chains of circumstance by sheer 
force of childish will ; she would win by dint of that irre- 
sistible quality that sparkles without cause and achieves 
without comprehension. 

You won't let your spirits run away with you, darling," 
she put in, however, a faint pick of anxiety crossing her 
satisfaction, but Griselda, it seemed, would make no more 
promises. 

‘‘ That remains to be seen," she said, with unmistakable 
gusto. ‘‘ You've started the car, and it may get to its 
destination or it may not; it may run over somebody or 
upset something; it may injure one passenger, or two, or 
three, or the whole lot of us; it may do nothing but take 
a little harmless, insignificant pleasure trip, but — for good 
or for evil — it's off." 


CHAPTER II 


TABLE TALK 

But an hour later, seated beside the very person on whom 
she had such audacious designs, she found herself unable 
to begin the attack. So aggressive was the angle of the broad 
shoulder that he turned on her, for the time she had to 
content herself with taking rather contemptuous stock of 
the rest of the company. 

There were but ten persons at Mrs. Fawcett’s round table, 
and the most imposing in appearance was the man on her 
left, a Mr. Dolman-Connie, M.P., who said nothing in the 
House and precious little out of it, but whose magnificent 
aspect of suppressed intelligence was a never-ending source 
of delight to his hostess. 

Lady Southern was plainly not in her element, and only 
her hopes for her daughter’s settlement added to the dim 
possibility of making an impression on a youth of the name 
of Hareton reconciled her to it. Hareton was an habitue 
of the house; he was wealthy, mindless, and strove to re- 
deem ‘‘ the atrocious crime of being a young man ” by 
attaching himself to the most elderly coquette within reach. 
The party was further augmented — one could not say en- 
livened — by the. presence of an ex-Colonel of Artillery — 
Cope by name — remarkable for the possession of a strident 
voice — an argumentative temper, and a wife endowed with 
that spirit of unquestioning loyalty that made of the Middle 
Ages so comfortable a berth for masculine autocracy. It 
was to this ingenuous and confiding person that Dorset lent 
his ear, though it was plain his eye lingered on a younger 
and much fairer face. Alva Dane was a blonde to the point 
where insipidity might be said to war with fascination, but 
it was a foregone conclusion that the latter would eventually 

13 


..A 

14 


Table Talk 


triumph, save in a prejudiced mind. For the hair was a 
pure, warm yellow, parted simply and knotted in the nape 
of the long neck, and the rather too light brows and lashes 
were set about a pair of eyes so brown and luminous that 
an adventurer, once embarking on the question of their 
meaning, would be compelled before long to forget all ex- 
cept the desire to reach the central mystery of them; her 
nose was aquiline, her ear delicately formed and delicately 
placed ; her head was a trifle small for her length of limb, 
but so fashioned as to suggest a piece of statuary with all 
the rigor taken out of it by the expression of the lips; these 
were full and always slightly parted, and it was as though 
they said to all who came within the circle where the girl 
sat so passively: ‘‘I am indefinite — imprisoned; classify 
me — or better — wake me.’’ She seemed to embody mem- 
ories evoked by many a painter-poet ; to have been seen in 
moments of mental exaltation floating down, far-eyed and 
captive, to Camelot or some such fairy city of the imagina- 
tion. Was the creature so absent-minded as she appeared? 
Was Dorset as much the master of his admiration as he 
affected to be? Was Peter bold enough to take what the 
old grandmother so obviously offered to him ? ” Lady 
Southern shook herself free from these engrossing specula- 
tions to take perfunctory part in the table talk — which, as 
usual, in this particular house, was improving or didactic 
rather than exhilarating. 

Mrs. Fawcett was accustomed to offer with her excellent 
soup some topic of historical, political, or literary impor- 
tance, and at this moment she was bemoaning in a platform 
style of oratory the flippancy of the modern novel. 

We are not being catered for,” she complained, we — 
the intelligent — are in a minority, and it is high time we 
spoke up ; we must call for the life-buoy.” 

She looked at Mr. Dolman-Connie, but his call was for 
sherry, and she had to content herself with the pompous 
agreement of Colonel Cope, who took advantage of the occa- 
sion to embark on the recital of his own early struggles with 
the ignorance and obstinacy of his age. At intervals he 


Table Talk 


15 

called upon his wife for dates with which to punctuate this 
personal discourse, and instead of resenting these constant 
interruptions of her own more domestic disclosures to the 
absent Dorset she always embarked eagerly upon the desired 
calculation with the help of all her fingers and most of her 
forks. Lady Southern's attention digressed once more, but 
returned to find the Colonel attempting a delineation of 
genius. Under pressure he was persuaded to admit a some- 
thing elusive and unclassable in this commodity. 

‘‘ All great forces," said Mr. Dolman-Connie so unex- 
pectedly that everybody jumped, ‘‘ are elusive and unclass- 
able." 

He placed the tips of his fingers together and closed his 
eyes ; it was precisely as though he added : I am elusive 
and unclassable ; you want a figure for this argument — ^look 
at me." 

Nonsense," Colonel Cope put in roughly. He detested 
the member of Parliament as a poacher on the attention he 
wanted for himself. ‘‘ All great forces express themselves 
bluntly and simply. I never yet came across a thing worth 
talking about that wasn’t as plain as the nose on my face." 

The simile was so effective that for the moment it silenced 
all. Then Mrs. Fawcett deemed it time to reassert herself, 
time to draw these somewhat hostile threads of conversation 
into the pattern demanded of the ingenuity of the leader of 
a salon. 

Let us say," she began unctuously, ‘‘ that you are all 
right, for surely genius is elusive, unclassable, simple, direct, 
and a great deal more besides ; surely it is the essence of all 
fine qualities of the mind — a drop from this, a drop from 
that, and the whole compressed into a cup so small and so 
fragile that few hands are enabled to touch it. Can any one 
name a genuine attribute of the intellect that does not con- 
tribute its quota to the magnetic whole ? " 

Certain people thought they could, and voices rose almost 
simultaneously. 

“ Affection," said Lady Southern. 

“ Common-sense," said the Colonel. 


Table Talk 


i6 

‘‘ Admiration for others/’ suggested his wife, with quite 
unconscious irony. 

Logic,” said Hareton, with the air of a man who has 
found the final word to an argument, while Dolman-Connie 
smiled his vast and inscrutable smile, in happy oblivion that 
nobody was drawing inspiration from it. 

‘‘ What did you say, Miss Dane ? ” 

Alva raised startled eyes to her questioner. 

‘‘ I didn’t say anything, Mr. Dorset.” 

‘‘ But you’ve been thinking. Can’t you find a superior 
quality of the mind that stands clear of genius ? ” 

‘‘ There’s imagination,” she said with reluctance ; then, 
fired, it seemed, into defiance by the chorus of protest her 
suggestion had invoked, she went on boldly: 

‘‘Of course, I know everybody puts them together, but 
they don’t belong. Genius is a great, ungainly power strug- 
gling to unite spirit and matter, while imagination is a bird 
with gorgeous wings, flying gaily into the sun. The genius 
is always looking up at it — that’s why his eye is so bright, 
but he can’t follow it, can’t ever catch it ; how could he, with 
that colossal weight of earthly interest and responsibility 
attached to him? The bird must be quite free — ^he must 

care for nothing — ^nothing ” By chance she caught her 

grandmother’s eye, and broke off hurriedly, turning to the 
baronet beside her with an air of apology — “ They shouldn’t 
ask such questions at a dinner-table. It wasn’t my fault, 
was it ? ” 

He laughed, and reassured her, grateful for her abrupt 
change of manner, and Dorset turned once more to Mrs. 
Cope. 

Griselda, aware that she must challenge his attention in 
a minute or two at latest, took a last rather nervous look at 
his averted head. 

The hair was sleek and dark, and very neatly parted down 
the middle ; the face was square and closely shaven. It had, 
indubitably, been designed to express a buoyant and im- 
pulsive temperament, though, as indubitably, it belonged to 
one at mental odds with these characteristics. Fresh in 


Table Talk 


17 

color, with features pleasantly proportioned ’rather than 
distinguished, and eyes gray or green (as the light or the 
mood dictated) and singularly bright and wide open, the 
young man had his work cut out to counteract the general 
effect of boyish and ingenuous charm. His frame was long 
and wiry, and also suggestive of impulsive movement. He 
could but temper these impressions by moving and speaking 
with great deliberation. He narrowed the wide glance, and 
set a pince-nez on the nose whose very slight tilt upward 
was the special bane of his existence. His eyesight was so 
excellent as to be irritated by even the minute quantity of 
magnifying power in the glass, and, by degrees, he les- 
sened his dependence on this particular bulwark to dignity, 
and only put it on in moments of emergency. 

When he smiled, showing white and rather small teeth, he 
' lost, perforce, this facial control, and there was something 
almost startling in the sudden exhibition of the face behind 
the mask — to women, at all events, and the elder and bolder 
of them had been known to angle for it, though, almost in- 
variably, their success would end in arousing his suspicion, 
and he would avenge his vanity by refusing to have any 
further dealings with them. 

‘‘ He’s artificial,” said Griselda to herself, and, as if at- 
tracted by the intensity of her interest, he turned abruptly 
to face it. 

She’s awake, by all that’s entertaining,” he remarked 
with unusual cordiality. 

Don’t you think it was time to wake, Mr. Dorset ? ” 

High time. Miss Southern. When the poet raves of the 
glory of a pout, one feels sure he hasn’t been exposed to 
many.” 

‘‘ I had so much to vex me,” she explained sweetly. Go 
back ever and ever so far, to your schooldays — to the last 
term.” 

‘‘Was it different from the others?” he asked care- 
lessly. 

“ Of course it was different. You get your stamp of suc- 
cess or failure.” 


1 8 Table Talk 

I needn’t ask which they gave you,” he said ponder- 
ously. 

I never got a stamp at all — at least, it came on a letter, 
telling me to come here ” — infinite scorn flashed across the 
table, away from his own face, he observed with inward 
satisfaction — “ here — among all these — these — well, you 
know what they are, and — I was expected to make myself 
pleasant.” 

You didn’t do it,” he reminded her consolingly. 

No more I did. What did you think of me that first 
night ? ” 

I thought you quite remarkably pretty.” 

And the next night ? ” she ventured. 

‘‘ The next night ? Let me see : still pretty, but rather 
shy, and — forgive the mistake — rather stupid.” 

“ And the third night ? ” Griselda persisted, with the cour- 
age of despair. 

The third night,” he echoed, with an affectation of con- 
sidering the matter — '' were you still there. Miss Southern ? ” 

Her sense of humor triumphed over that of pique, and 
she laughed whole-heartedly. 

I suppose you’re making fun of me again. I don’t care, 
though. We’re all young and greedy some time or other in 
our lives, and cross, too.” 

Well, you’re not cross just now,” he said cheerfully. 

This is the first really amiable look you’ve given me. Why 
does it come so late, or why does it come at all ? ” 

The gaiety went out of her face, and she dropped her 
voice and her eyelids. 

‘‘ I’ve only just found out that we ought to be friends, 
that we’re in the same box — and oh ! it’s such a horrid box, 
isn’t it ? ” 

She looked up again, under cover of a petulant frown, to 
face his astonishment. 

‘‘What are you talking about?” 

“ Oh, it’s one of the forbidden topics,” she said airily — 
“ I know that ; but I’m frightened of it, and when you talk 
about a monster it doesn’t look quite so big.” 


Table Talk 


19 

"" Would you mind being a little more explicit ? ’’ he said 
coldly. 

But you must understand without making me put the 
hateful story into so many words. The horrid box is pov- 
erty, of course. I wish it wasn’t. There are so many other 
disagreeable things in the world I could bear better. Why 
do you look so astonished? You told me how poor you 
were that first night, and I said, so was I ; and we laughed 
as if it was rather a good joke — only, even then, I had the 
impression that your laugh didn’t ring true. Now I under- 
stand the reason.” 

Her eyes had lost all trace of roguery, and the young face 
had become the toy of tragic destiny: it was a very beau- 
tiful toy, he paused to note, before voicing his disapproval 
of her lack of reserve. 

As you’ve gone so far, you’d better finish. What have 
you learnt of the wry quality of the joke? ” 

She frowned again, but now apparently in reminiscence, 
in the effort to express some carefully conned, but difficult, 
lesson; and no manner could have befooled her listener 
better, for he had already his own obstinate estimate of 
Lady Southern and her type. 

I’ve learnt that it doesn’t only mean going without 
things — it doesn’t mean just shabby frocks; it means pre- 
tending and deceiving, and trying to keep pace with people 
ten times as rich as yourself ; it means being polite to the 
nouveaux riches and cringing to your dressmaker — and oh, 
a great deal more that I’d like to forget.” 

That you’d be wise to forget,” he commented ; but she 
only opened her now mournful eyes a little wider. 

‘‘ I’ve been allowed to forget for eighteen years, and now 
I’ve got to set to work and remember.” 

‘‘ And I’m in this same sordid box ? ” he inquired. 

‘‘Oh, no; I didn’t mean just the same. A man can be 
poor without disgrace.” 

“ I wonder why ? ” 

“ So do I,” said Griselda promptly. “ It doesn’t seem 
fair, does it, to make things harder for a girl ? But there 


20 


Table Talk 


it is ! A man goes out into the world and fights for what 
the gods won’t give him. It’s tiresome, of course, and takes 
time, but in the end he gets his freedom, if he’s strong 
enough. But a girl has to sit indoors and look nice, and 
wait to be rescued or left to drown.” 

I think. Miss Southern, that some one has been exag- 
gerating.” 

'' You mean my mother, don’t you? ” she said, so simply 
as to disconcert him. 

'' No — yes — well, I can’t help feeling that she sees matters 
too much from a single standpoint — a bitter one. She’s had 
rough luck, but it doesn’t follow that you’ll have the same.” 

Of course not; that’s what she says. I’m to escape, and 
there’s only one way for a girl ; and marriage isn’t so bad, 
she says, as one imagines ; only — only ” — and her animation 
dropped with dramatic effect — I’ve such strong likes and 
dislikes. Still it’s no good ; I can’t be fastidious ; it’s any- 
body with a home to give me. But I’ll tell you a secret : I’m 
going to draw one line of my own.” 

‘‘ I’m thankful to hear it,” he said dryly. 

Yes ; if he hasn’t got a horse for me to ride, I shall say 
* No.’ It isn’t much to ask, now, is it? I can’t live without 
a horse; I don’t mind about food or frocks or London 
seasons, or anything, in fact, but the stable.” 

She paused, gazing incidentally (he decided) into his 
face, and actually into the face of the pitiful situation, and 
he found himself speaking more gently than he had in- 
tended. 

'' So that’s the only line you draw ? What about a fellow 
like Hareton ? ” 

Oh, I couldn’t,” she began, and stopped ; but — ^yes — 
I’d have to.” Then an invigorating thought came to the 
succor of the situation and she actually laughed. It won’t 
be Hareton — he doesn’t like anybody under forty ; it will be 
somebody nice. Why, he must be a good sort to choose 
such a beggar-maid. I’m like Briinhilde — my poverty shuts 
me behind a wall of fire; he mayn’t be a hero, but he must 
be a very disinterested man to come to the rescue.” 



Table Talk 


21 


Dorset laughed with mingled relief and amusement. This 
profane creature appealed to his love of power. She made, 
moreover, too lovely a martyr to evade his discriminating 
eyes; the marvelous necklace sparkling about her throat 
seemed to his fancy the outward symbol of that incongruity 
she had been unconsciously revealing. It was the lip, he 
told himself, quoting, parrot-fashion, the ugly tale of moral 
decay ; the heart was still the heart of a child indissolubly 
linked to trust and gaiety. 

‘‘ There’s Mr. Dolman-Connie,” he said lightly ; '' he’s old 
enough to want a young wife and silent enough to want a 
chatter-box.” 

'' It would take weeks to get in touch with him,” she com- 
plained with mock seriousness ; and there’s nobody else 
here; except my cousin Peter.” 

Harry allowed his attention to be lured into the desired 
direction, but he made no response. 

‘‘ Fancy keeping an old lady like Mrs. Fawcett waiting all 
this time,” the girl ventured cautiously ; ‘‘ though it isn’t 
Peter’s fault. He’s dying to propose, but she can’t make up 
her mind to let him. She doesn’t want to marry any- 
body; in fact, she’s married already to her imagination: 
she let that cat out of the bag to-night at dinner, didn’t 
she?” 

‘‘ Did she ? ” he replied laconically, but Griselda went on 
in apparent disregard of his lack of response. 

‘‘Of course, she’ll take him in the end. She doesn’t care 
enough to make a stand. I think Peter will suit her very 
well ; he’s such a good kind sort, and he’s handsome too — 
don’t you think so?” 

Thus directly appealed to, Harry answered that he hadn’t 
given the matter any consideration. 

“Well, give it some now,” she persisted childishly; “I 
want to know how he strikes another man.” 

“ He isn’t the striking sort.” 

“ Then what sort is he ? ” 

“ What you said just now — a good sort,” he admitted, 
driven into a corner : “ good features, since you insist upon 


22 Table Talk 

my looking at them, good manners, a good rider, and a good 
shot/’ 

Add a good temper, and I don’t see what else she can 
want,” Griselda summarized ; and he’s a brown Southern, 
not a yellow one, which is just as well, seeing that people | 
are supposed to be attracted by their opposites.” i 

You’re brown too,” he said, hailing a possible diversion j 
of theme ; at least, there’s a gipsy effect.” i 

And you’re far too dark to appreciate it,” she pouted ; | 

‘‘ you ought to fall in love with Alva — that is — I mean — oh, | 
don’t say I’ve put my foot in it ! ” I 

Harry smiled, with what he trusted looked like amuse- I 
ment. i 

‘‘ Have I been admiring her too obviously ? ” he asked, 
and she showed both contrition and embarrassment. 

‘‘ You do look at her a good deal, but so do we all. Still, 
just for a moment, the awful idea came into my head that 
perhaps you really cared.” | 

“ And the awful idea has decamped, eh ? ” | 

She laughed a delightful reassurance to his imperiled 
dignity. 

Well, of course, you couldn’t have taken it so easily — 
my slip — if you’d been serious, and besides, there hasn’t 
been time for a man like you to fall in love.” 

How long does it take to fall from a height?” he in- | 
quired benevolently, and again she laughed, this time with | 
an enchanting air of wisdom. 

‘‘You aren’t the sort to fall; you like to do everything | 
with deliberation.” 

“ So you’ve been staring at me while I stared at beautiful 
Miss Dane.” 

“ I was so dull,” she pleaded, “ I’d nobody to talk to. It 
was my own fault for being cross when you were ready to 
be kind, but that doesn’t make the loneliness easier to 
bear.” 

“ Suppose you ride with me to-morrow ; I’ve seen you on 
that mare of your cousin’s. Could you borrow her again ? ” 
“Yes, I think so. Alva doesn’t care much for riding; 


Table Talk 


23 

she likes dawdling through the woods better. Would ten 
o’clock suit ? ” 

"" I think so, but we’ll fix the time at breakfast. I may 
have letters to answer in the morning. What are you grop- 
ing for ? ” 

My handkerchief and my gloves, and — if you could — 
my slipper. I always forget it till the signal goes; thank 
you and good-by.” 

She was gone, but she left an impression behind. Over 
his walnuts he found the image of Alva blurred by another 
and a more vital, if a less harmonious, one; for it inflamed 
his pity, his curiosity, and the defiance in his blood that 
always induced him to feign the control of emotions with 
which he had never seriously warred. 


CHAPTER III 


A ladies' battle 

A ROW of fine glass-houses were connected with Mrs. 
Fawcett’s drawing-room, and Griselda lingered in the first 
of them. 

She was aware that the girl on whom she had designs 
had wandered away — presumably into the fernery beyond. 
Alva was frankly averse to the society of other women — 
at all events, of such women as were generally collected 
under her grandmother’s roof, and the old lady, seeing in 
this unsocial habit an opportunity that a man in love would 
be likely to take advantage of, had foreborne to check it. 
But she had forgotten to take counter-intrigue into account 
and was happily unaware of this second defaulter, just now 
engaged in screwing her courage to the point necessary to 
the second move in her game of the night. 

As though in answer to a sudden and dangerous drop in 
the girl’s enthusiasm, there stole presently to her ear the 
notes of a violin. Lady Southern was a remarkably clever 
performer on this difficult instrument when one took into 
consideration the gods who ruled her nature, and she could 
voice on her Amati ” many of the ideas that are supposed 
to emanate from the rank emotionalists. As Griselda lis- 
tened the color came again to her soft round cheek — the 
sparkle to her eye. As though the inflammation of one 
sense set into revolt the sister senses, she bent right and 
left inhaling the scent of heliotrope and heavy-headed 
yellow roses, and as she passed into the ferneries she 
presently found herself regarding their neutrality of color 
with disdain. 

It was pitiful, she decided, to be so toneless^ so unas- 
24 


A Ladies’ Battle 


25 

sertive, so quiescent under the dictates of tyrannous force. 
Why did so few dream of rebellion — so many of submis- 
sion? 

In sight of Alva, she paused to take stock of this unsus- 
pecting quarry. A couple of Japanese lanterns afforded 
the only light, and it was just strong enough to reveal the 
perfection of her rival's pose, while too faint to betray 
that single physical deficiency with which her enemies were 
wont to tax her. The hint of insipidity, of too uniform a 
fairness, was lost in this mysterious half-light, and the in- 
vader felt, with a bound of the pulse, that climax was upon 
her. Nerve and spirit responded gamely to the prompter; 
it was a play ; they were dressed for their important parts — 
Alva in lovely languor and complete unconsciousness, she in 
her glittering necklace and desperate mind. 

She made an impetuous movement, her gown rustled, and 
the curtain was rung up just a second before she was ready 
for it. 

How you made me jump ! Alva said with a smile. 

‘‘ Only you never jump," Griselda objected. And may 
I call you by your first name ? " 

If you want to talk to me." 

I do. No, I won't sit down; I like to stand after that 
interminable dinner." It was a help, the young conspira- 
tor decided, to look down, from a physical point of vantage, 
on this antagonist, whose placidity at these close quarters 
seemed to conceal magnetic force. She wore an Empire 
gown of white satin, accentuating, by its simplicity, the 
faultless lines of the form beneath. Her two white hands 
lay in the lap of it, and, to the other, they suggested the 
hands of fate, waiting in patient strength the signal for 
movement. The silence appeared to her fancy to be Alva's 
friend, and she hastened to expel it, convinced that in quick 
by-play, in litheness, in impulsive attack lay her own chance 
of triumph. 

I can't think how I ever dared to come," she began, 
‘‘ but curiosity urges one to do the most outrageous things, 
and I'm devoured with curiosity." 


26 


A Ladies’ Battle 


About me, Griselda? ” 

Of course. You’re so different from the rest of us. 
You look at us so strangely and from such a long, long way 
off. Your eyes are full of fairy tales, and I can read the 
beginnings of them but never the ends. I suppose there’s 
the conquering prince and joy for ever after, but I’m not 
sure. For one thing, you wouldn’t be satisfied with our sort 
of prince or our sort of joy either, would you? ” 

Alva smiled again, not displeased with this tribute to her 
peculiarities. 

I thought you were a schoolgirl,” she said graciously, 
and it would be no use trying to talk to you. I wonder 
what brought you here to-night?” 

“ It was what you said at dinner,” Griselda replied 
treacherously ; ‘‘ I want to hear some more about the bird 
that flies into the sun.” 

But Alva flushed with annoyance. 

‘‘ I was an idiot to say such things to such a set of people. 
I forgot where I was, and — and — I was a little desperate to- 
night. I’m glad you came, Griselda. I wanted somebody 
to speak to, and you’re so safe and so kind,” she finished, 
with a look the other could not meet. 

‘‘ I’m interested,” she answered, looking at the silver line 
of water running from the trellised roof by rocky degrees 
into the carved basin of stone at Alva’s back. ‘‘ I want to 
follow those long thoughts of yours that take you so far 
away from all the rest of us.” 

“ But they don’t take me, that’s the trouble. They always 
used to, until a few days ago, and now — now — for some 
unknown and detestable reason — they won’t fly; they’re 
running round in a circle, like mice in a trap.” 

The spirit of enterprise found encouragement in this 
chance simile. 

Mice in a trap,” Griselda echoed ; “ but have you seen 
the trap? ” Alva stared, and her friend proceeded quickly, 
fearful of interruption : “ Have you ever been to The 
Court ? because that’s the only trap in which anybody wants 
to cage you.” 


A Ladies’ Battle 


27 

For a moment the elder girl wavered between indignation 
and curiosity, then the latter triumphed. 

‘‘ Southern Court ? Fve been there, years ago, when I 
was a child.’’ 

And what do you remember ? ” 

“ The pictures,” said Alva softly, '' and a marble woman 
with her head upon her hand, and a rose-garden with a 
sun-dial in the middle of it; but these things are in every 
place of the sort,” she finished, with an effort to recapture 
some defiance. 

“If you go again,” said her companion solemnly, “ you 
won’t come back ! ” 

“ That’s nonsense. It’s a beautiful house, full of sweet 
memories, but a child is easily taken in by effect.” 

Griselda shook her head. 

“ It gets worse as you grow older. They tell yoU more 
and more, those queer dead men and women in the gallery ; 
they won’t go to sleep ; they can’t forget that it all belonged 
to them and they to it. If you stand very still on a moon- 
light night, they begin to smile and sigh and shake the 
tapestry. Sometimes there’s the swish of silk skirts, and 
if you follow it you always go the same way : out of the 
gallery by the north door, down the big corridor, and on 
into the little one to your right, through the old bridal cham- 
ber, where mother wouldn’t sleep, and out by the door be- 
hind the curtain on to the winding wooden staircase that 
goes up — up to the play-room under the roof.” 

“ It’s echo,” said Alva faintly, her great brown eyes be- 
ginning to glitter strangely in the uncertain light ; “ it’s 
creaking boards and mice and shadows formed by the move- 
ment of the moon.” But she was begging for contradiction, 
and Griselda took up her theme, grateful for the influx of 
genuine sensation invading her pulses. 

“ It’s the shadows of people who lived and loved so 
fiercely that they can’t pass on. Do you think I don’t un- 
derstand their feeling? I’ve been turned out, but I’m one 
of them. They are my own people, and they whisper to 
me, not very kindly sometimes — they’re bitter, you know; 


28 


A Ladies’ Battle 


they like to rub in the glorious ‘ might-have-been ’ ; it re- 
lieves their own sense of loss to gloat over mine ; it amuses 
them to sneer at their own flesh and blood, to laugh at these 
confounded — I beg your pardon — these fatal petticoats. Tm 
crossed out, and I ought to have been in the middle ; I ought 
to have been where Peter is, and look at me — a wretched 
little female beggar tricked out in a borrowed necklace, 
forced to whine at every street corner for alms from the 
independent.’' 

There were tears of real chagrin in her eyes as she 
finished. 

Poor Griselda ! it’s a shame, but what can I do ? It’s 
the law, and it has tormented thousands besides you; and 
then — then — ^you’re so sweet to look at — somebody will play 
champion; somebody will take pity; chance will turn the 
wheel again. I’m sure.” 

‘‘ I don’t trust chance, Alva. I want a human finger on 
the wheel. I want this finger.” 

Lightly she put out her hand and laid it on one of Alva’s. 

My helpless little finger ? ” said the girl in bewilder- 
ment. 

It’s only helpless because you can’t be bothered to move 
it. You must wake up, Alva Dane” — and now there was 
genuine passion in the inciting voice, for the great game was 
beginning to assume royal possibilities — “ you’re on the 
rocks and there are more lives on board than you imagine. 
First there’s Peter : he would make a bonfire of his ances- 
tor’s portraits to give you an hour’s amusement, and you’re 
tormenting him ; then there’s your poor old grandmother ” 
(a dangerous desire to laugh at this particular figure had to 
be rigorously checked) : she’s set her heart on the match; 
and then — and then — there’s Mr. Dorset and me.” Her 
tongue faltered eflfectively, and her voice changed quality. 

‘‘ You — Griselda? What in the world has it all got to do 
with you ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, that’s so like you star-gazers,” said the girl pet- 
tishly ; you never see the tiny earth-creatures you step on 
whenever you make one of your rare movements. As you 


A Ladies’ Battle 


29 

said before, Vm a schoolgirl— I ought not to have sensi- 
bilities and fancies; but I have, and they’re just as import- 
ant to my happiness as your great winged thoughts are to 
yours.” 

Go on, dear,” said Alva gently. 

‘‘ Yes, and I’ll try to put it in your sort of language. 
I’m like one of the people in the fairy tales who are com- 
pelled by a malicious fairy to fall in love with the first per- 
son they meet round a certain corner. I come out of 
school — I turn the corner, and — and I meet him. But some 
impulse, as mysterious as it is dangerous, urges me to defy 
the spell. He was kind, but, Alva, I was cross, and — he 
turned away to find you on the other side, and you don’t 
really want anybody in that way, do you? You are com- 
plete by yourself ; you seem to sit apart, like a great lady 
on a throne, and we come to you for help, for pity, for our 
futures.” 

Alva was not as indifferent to this form of flattery as she 
chose to pretend. 

‘‘ What is it that you are asking me to do, Griselda ? ” 

‘'To give him up, and at once, before the charm has 
been taken out of him. He’s only looked at you ; he hasn’t 
spoken to you. There’s still time,” she finished imploringly. 

“ Are you in love with him ? ” 

“Yes, against my will; by order of the mysterious com- 
pany that the law doesn’t countenance. He was the first, I 
tell you, and without much rhyme or reason we give them 
our hearts. I often laugh at him, Alva; he’s vain and 
prejudiced, and almost as inexperienced as I am myself, but 
it makes no difference. I want him — I’ve got to love him.” 

“ It’s rather a fascinating idea,” Alva said ; “ but there 
are dragons in the way, much bigger ones than his possible 
fancy for me,” she added, with one of those lapses into 
prose that always startled her friends. “ He’s very poor, 
Griselda. Your mother will never allow you to think of 
him.” 

Griselda looked shamefully into the green depths of the 
fernery and as usual she found before long a stimulating 


A Ladies’ Battle 


3 ° 

thought: it was better, she told herself firmly, to win an 
ignoble game than to lose it, and she turned once more to 
face her quiet companion. 

‘‘ No. It would mean years of waiting, but — ^but aren’t 
there some things that are worth waiting for ? ” 

Alva answered promptly to this falsely heroic spur. She 
put out a hand, little used to impulsive gestures, and pressed 
the one Griselda resigned to her. 

‘‘ Of course there are. I try to talk that way sometimes 
to please granny, but it’s an affectation. I belong heart and 
soul to that mysterious company the law refutes. They 
haven’t told me to fall in love with a particular person, 
though I’m years older than you, and I begin to be afraid 
they never will.” 

‘‘ And you’ll marry Peter,” said her friend softly; ‘‘ he’ll 
take you to The Court and put you among all those lovely 
women of the past. You said you were just beginning to 
be unhappy : that’s because you’re in the wrong place. You 
don’t belong to Mrs. Fawcett and her set. You belong to 
wide spaces and pale spirits, not to this comfortable modern 
house. Peter will be good to you ; he’s good to everybody. 
He won’t ask you for what you can’t give. He won’t spoil 
the mystery in you. You’ll take him to-night, Alva, won’t 
you? I’ll send him here, and you’ll let him speak at last 
and make us all happy.” 

He’ll be good to me,” said Alva dreamily ; he’ll take 
me to that old house, and everybody will be pleased. I sup- 
pose I ought to say ‘Yes.’ I’ve been trying to say it for 
some time, and — and — you’re so sure it’s the right word, 
aren’t you ? ” 

“ Of course; but how am I ever going to thank you?” 
Griselda said diffidently. 

“ By taking advantage of my sacrifice — if it is a sacrifice,” 
Alva began in a voice that demanded reassurance on this 
point. 

“ It’s the greatest sacrifice a woman ever makes,” Griselda 
declared, not without an inner sense of guilt. “ I couldn’t 
have asked it of anybody else. A lover is the one thing no 


A Ladies’ Battle 


31 

ordinary girl will give up, however little she may return his 
passion. And you don't love him, do you? You don’t 
really want him at your feet? Say it, just to set my mind 
at rest before I go and coax him to make friends with me 
again." 

Alva laughed. '^No; I don't want anybody at my feet. 
Take him if you can, and your mother will let you, with an 
easy conscience. And — yes — you may send Peter. When 
I've said ‘ Yes ' they'll leave me alone, and I shall be free to 
think my old thoughts. Oh, Griselda, do you care as much 
as all this ? " for the girl was pressing hot kisses against her 
hair. ‘‘ It makes me a trifle jealous; I seem to be missing 
something. But — perhaps — some day I shall take fire too ; 
only — only I shall be tied down ; it will be too late." 

For a moment her placidity rocked, and Griselda hastened 
to steady it. 

You don't belong to people," she said reassuringly. 
‘‘ When you fire up it will be to light a city or an empire, 
not a man's hearth." 

She left the flattery to do its work and fled rapidly back 
the way she had come, hoping to be in time to intercept her 
cousin on his way to the drawing-room, and not unwisely, 
for no last word could have appealed more forcibly to Alva 
Dane than the one she had chosen. It was delightful to 
play the almoner of fortune in this non-exacting fashion, 
and she sat in patient self-satisfaction waiting to admit a 
favored courtier — not to the inner chamber of sensation, 
but only to the outer one of personal environment ; and she 
little suspected that it was an inflamed instinct and not a 
quixotic mind that dominated the point at stake and mini- 
mized its significance in such reassuring fashion, 


CHAPTER IV 


THE COMEDY OF PROTECTION 

To the two men she intercepted so opportunely together 
on their way to the drawing-room, Griselda stood at first 
for no more than a pretty and breathless image of em- 
barrassment. 

“ You look/’ said her cousin, ‘‘ as though you had been 
in mischief.” 

Is there a fire somewhere ? ” Dorset inquired with flip- 
pancy. 

‘‘ No; there’s no fire and no mischief, but — I was to tell 
you — I was to ask you — that is, there’s something — wait- 
ing for you, Peter, in the last of the ferneries.” 

Peter looked mystified, but to Dorset came an antici- 
patory flash of comprehension. 

Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral ? ” he asked, with a 
creditable air of amusement. But Griselda kept her eyes 
steadily upon her cousin. 

'' It is Alva,” she said simply, and I promised to send 
you.” 

Peter started, looked keenly at this Queen’s-messenger, 
then, without any comment, he made for the door by which 
Griselda had come, and passed quickly through it to find his 
fate. 

How did you get into the problem ? ” 

Dorset’s tone was just a trifle too careless to effect its 
purpose, and the courage, which for a moment threatened 
to desert her, came flowing back. 

‘‘ She was sitting all alone, and she wanted somebody to 
talk to. I can admire her and sympathize with her, though 
I can’t understand her. She wants to be human now and 


32 


The Comedy of Protection 33 

then, Mr. Dorset. But it isn't easy for her; she doesn’t 
belong to our common ideas and habits.” 

Still, I gather she meditates a very practical descent into 
them,” he commented shortly. 

‘‘ Yes. She’s been explaining it to me. You see, she 
can’t give her real self to anybody; she’d like to, but she 
can’t.” 

‘‘ And the spirit being unbindable, she offers the incon- 
sequent flesh,” the young man said, but only to himself. 
Aloud, he remarked that “ if Southern were satisfied, it 
was not for less favored mortals to cavil at the lady’s 
distinctions.” 

She let a degree of anxiety animate her face. '^You 
don’t mind, do you? Now and then I’ve thought — I’ve 
fancied — that — well — she’s so lovely — and you do look at 
her a good deal — ^but it’s nonsense, isn’t it ? ” she finished, 
with a childish accent of appeal. 

‘‘ Nonsense to regard me as an unsuccessful wooer? ” he 
suggested. 

“ Oh, I don’t understand you any better than Alva,” she 
said mendaciously. ‘‘ You both bewilder me, but not in the 
same way. I can only see that you don’t seem to belong to 
one another any more than — than you belong to me.” 

This attitude was both flattering and reassuring, and it left 
the vaunted master of his emotions well disposed to play a 
short comedy of protection. 

‘‘ Must we face the music ? ” he said, with a confidential 
lift of his shoulder in the direction of the drawing-room, 
where Mrs. Cope could be heard struggling with the accom- 
paniment to ‘‘ The Devout Lover,” sung nightly by Mr. 
Hareton at his hostess’s request. 

There’s the back drawing-room,” she whispered eagerly ; 

it has a curtain drawn right across, and we shan’t get the 
full force of his top note.” 

Like a pair of conspirators they stole, by a roundabout 
route, to this semi-seclusion. The room was only dimly 
lighted, and it suited alike the irritated mood of the man 
and the adventurous resolution of the girl. 


34 The Comedy of Protection 

‘‘ It’s nice here, isn’t it ? ” she began, when she had 
established herself and him at the far end of it. '' I like 
that dull red lamp and the stillness, and I almost like ‘ The 
Devout Lover ’ at this distance. I don’t want to get up 
and go back ; what a pity one can’t choose a particular mo- 
ment, and say — and say ” 

Verweile dock — du bist so schon. It has been done. 
Miss Southern, but not with success.” 

‘‘ I’m afraid I don’t understand. I never got very far 
with my German — it is German, isn’t it? There were such 
a lot of ends to the adjectives and sexes to the nouns. War 
was a gentleman — that’s right enough ; but love was a lady, 
and a horse was neither the one nor the other — I should 
have made him a king, if they’d consulted me. They might, 
at least, have given him a soul, because a heaven without a 
horse in it wouldn’t be any fun at all.” 

What is a soul ? ” he asked, more for the artistic 
pleasure of watching her fancies inflame her childish face 
than for any expectation of receiving an illuminative an- 
swer. 

‘‘A soul? Why, a soul is something that goes on for 
ever and ever.” 

That’s a quantity,” he protested lazily, ‘‘ not a quality.” 
And you don’t care,” she retorted, with a flash of 
shrewdness. You want me to talk you to sleep after your 
good dinner, but I’m not a musical-box. I object to being 
treated so unfairly.” 

‘‘ But I’m really curious,” he roused himself to insist; is 
there a soul in this country house ? — in Dolman-Connie, for 
instance — or in Hareton — or in you and me ? ” 

As if you didn’t know a thousand times more than I 
do about the soul. Of course they are here, in each of us, 
but they don’t look out of windows. There isn’t room, 
with such a multitude of trivial aims and interests about. 
Look into my eyes ; they don’t tell you anything important, 
now, do they? They are panes of empty glass, colored 
by chance or by an ancestress with a particular affection for 
a particular shade of blue.” 


The Comedy of Protection 35 

He accepted the invitation, aware that in doing so he was 
also accepting a certain risk; aware that his mood of the 
evening was not normal, unless (and here came a yet 
sharper point to suspicion) this influx of speculative emo- 
tion was the normal, and his old attitude the affected, state 
of manhood. In any case, it behooved him to be cautious. 
Alva’s decision had touched his vanity on the raw, and this 
mobile face, lent so suddenly, so unreservedly, to his atten- 
tion, had always pleased his eye. The qualified gipsy charm 
began, for the second time, to assert an influence over his 
imagination, all the more potently because this same imagi- 
nation had been held so long and so systematically in leash. 
Thanks mainly to the astonishingly accommodating nature 
of circumstances, he had, till now, managed to keep his 
distance from the female eye — this quality of female eye, 
at all events. Leaning forward, against his judgment, al- 
most against his will, it now seemed to him that a startling 
amount of light was emitted from it, and that there was 
rising in him an inexplicable but hungry demand for light. 
There was something at once innocent and all-wise, buoyant 
and imploring, in those limpid depths he strove to fathom; 
and, as he yielded, now a prejudice, now a conviction, it 
seemed to his unu..ually sensitive fancy that she too yielded, 
as reluctantly, but just as unquestionably, some constitu- 
tional tendency, thus leaving him always the master of the 
occasion. 

‘‘ I can’t believe them empty,” he said cautiously, '' and I 
don’t want to believe them full of sordid interest and aims, 
such aims as you avowed so frankly at dinner, for example. 
They are very blue, Griselda — I mean. Miss Southern, — 
and I’ve never seen a blue eye at quite such close quarters 
before ; in my family they’re all gray or green, like my own. 
There is no warmth, no disturbing call to — to — now, where 
in the world is it that they’re calling me to? ” 

‘‘ I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered innocently. Do 
you want to be called in any particular direction ? Are you 
a little dull sometimes? I’m never dull — at least, I never 
was till I came into this house. At school I used to wake 


36 The Comedy of Protection 

up every morning at the same time, and find a jolly little 
spirit beside the pillow busy mapping out the day for me. I 
won’t say he always mapped it out very judiciously; he got 
me into plenty of trouble, but even trouble is better than 
nothing — it’s a movement, anyway. You’re so quiet, and 
yet I don’t feel it’s because you can’t move ; when you smile 
there comes an odd jump in my breast, as if something was 
going to happen, but it flashes out and back again, and 
you’re only — only the man ' in Colonial employ ’ after all.” 

‘‘ And you’ve no use for him, eh ? ” 

‘‘ He’s no use for me,” she complained, ‘‘ or for any of 
us; he looks away over our heads, towards Uganda, I sup- 
pose, as Mrs. Jellaby used to look at the natives of Borrio- 
boola-Gha. Must you go ? It’s so far away and so hot ; I 
don’t want you to go just as we are going to make friends.” 

Find me a really good reason for throwing up my ap- 
pointment,” he fenced, not quite as lightly as he would have 
liked. 

‘‘ But I can’t find a better reason than my wanting you,” 
she said, encouraged by his expression. When you want a 
thing very badly you must have it, and if it’s near enough 
you take it.” 

‘‘ You’d have some difficulty in taking a point of this 
kind.” 

‘‘ Yes,” she agreed, with a disarming change of tone. He 
saw every vestige of the mischief drained from her face; 
her lip shook and her voice lost all its notes of saucy exu- 
berance. That’s true. I keep forgetting. Mama only 
told me the hateful story to-night, and I haven’t quite taken 
it in even yet. There’s somebody in me that says, 'Yes, I 
see, I submit,’ and somebody else, a sort of fairy counselor, 
who laughs and says, ' Don’t worry, dear ; I’ll save you, 
even on the altar steps.’ ” 

A passion fully half sincere gave to the utterance an un- 
due amount of influence. 

" The counselor is conscience,” he suggested, struggling 
to expel the magic pressing him close, but she laughed her 
disdain for such a misnomer. 


The Comedy of Protection 37 

“You can’t play games with your conscience, and I’ve 
played games with my fairy friend ever since I was a baby. 
He doesn’t care twopence for right and wrong, and I don’t 
bother him with such tiresome questions. But I go to him 
whenever I’m in a difficulty, just as I used to do years ago 
at The Court, when I was supposed to be fast asleep m bed. 

‘ Are you there, fairy prince ? ’ I used to call, when the light 
went out and my nurse had gone safely down to her supper. 

“ ‘ To be sure, Griselda,’ he’d answer straight away. 

“ ‘ What are we going to do to-morrow, fairy prince ? ’ 

“ ‘ I’m going to be a big bear, Griselda.’ ^ ^ 

“ ‘ And who are you going to eat up, fairy prince ? 

“ ‘ Everybody you don’t like, Griselda ’ ; and that s why I 
can’t be quite desperate, for that’s what he’ll say the night 
before the wedding. I know my fairy prince, and I don’t 
believe he’ll play me false. He’ll eat up the bridegroom, if 
he isn’t to my taste, and mama, too, if she makes a fuss, and 
everybody who tries to hurt his dear Griselda. Think of 
Mr. Dolman-Connie standing up to a big bear.” But Harry 
Dorset was thinking of something still more incongruous. 

“ It’s all rubbish,” he said sharply, still wrestling with the 
spirit of revolution taking each moment a more definite and 
a more dangerous shape. “ You’re dreaming, but you 11 
wake up to find yourself a twentieth-century wife very 
firmly tied to prose.” 

“Well, then, it will be my fate,” she said resignedly, 
“ and I can’t control fate ; I can only control the ternper in 
which I accept it. I can be cheerful, even in my prison , I 
can laugh, and the noise will keep the rats away, if it won’t 
bring anybody to the rescue.” 

“ Griselda, you’re mad ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” she said, and turned her face away, “ mother 
is going to play the ‘ Liebes-traum ’ by Liszt. It s beauti- 
ful ! it makes you forget or remember — a little of both, per- 
haps. I think mama’s soul is in her fingers; listen! she 
plays the piano almost as well as the violin.” 

He leant back in his seat, fancying for a moment that this 
interruption had been in his favor, but presently he became 


38 The Comedy of Protection j 

aware that a new regiment had been added to the army out I 
against his old peace of mind. It was as though the music 
seized upon each concession he had approached and 
wrought it into a definite and harmonious decision, while 
his vanity had to content itself with the effort to infuse 
into these new conditions of existence at least some of the 
qualities of the old. Surely there was monarchial disregard 
of custom in this abrupt defiance of his own code directly he 
had occasion to doubt its competency ! Surely, too, this child 
looked at him as captives look from their cages, out towards 
the lords of liberty and the masters of their fates! Sud- 
denly his refusal to regard the ‘‘ vineyard of Naboth,’’ even 
with the interest of a brother, began to rock, as he told 
himself that the common view (saved from vulgarity by its 
union with the uncommon occasion) stood behind his recan- 
tation and promised practical support. After all, strong men 
made sacrifices, covered with them the frailty and the mis- 
fortune of weak women. She was young to battle with 
sordid circumstances ; she was very ignorant, and she was 
very trustful ; she was very lovely, and she was so near him 
that he could note the breath fluttering in her white throat 
between the bars of that detestable necklace. 

And as he swayed between the stolid memories of the 
past and the fantastic promises of the future, there came to 
him from behind the thick velvet curtain, this dream of love 
evoked by an experienced artist mind and expressed by 
experienced artist fingers. Each wonderful phrase surged 
forward and slipped back, just as did his vacillating sensa- 
tions ; there was hint and defiance, assertion and retraction, 
but the triumph of the senses was ever and always but a 
question of time. When the thrilling climax came, when 
the hesitancy was beaten down by those regal, audacious, 
conquering chords, Griselda turned her full face once more 
to him, and the ecstasy upon it gave the death-blow to his 
opposition, although the knowledge of the magnitude of his 
surrender forced him to set a temporary hedge or two be- 
tween his worsted self and this inexplicable subduer. 

For you, remember, it means the first man or devil with 


The Comedy of Protection 39 

three acres and a cow,” he said roughly; but she only 
laughed outright, and shook her brown head at him with a 
vehemence there was no disdaining. 

“ You can’t frighten me any more. The music has given 
me back my courage. It’s made me forget the thorns and 
remember the roses. You see, it all came right m the end— 
it had to. And it will be the same with my life. I’ve got 
to trust the spirit of fair-play, even if I can’t quite trust that 
fairy counselor of my childhood. Besides, to look at the 
matter from a serious, mathematical point of view, it’s at 
least three to one on a nice man turning up. There are 
ever so many more nice people in the world than nasty 
ones. I’ve been about,” she added, with an adorable air of 
wisdom — “I know what I’m saying. Heaps of the girls 
used to take me home for the holidays, and oh, they were 
good to me! They lent me everything they had and I 
hadn’t — their horses and their frocks and their pet brothers 
and cousins. I had to accept so much and give — nothing. 
But some day I mean to pay them back ; some day when the 
luck turns. It wasn’t only for myself I wanted that home 
and horse I told you about.” 

He bent closer, but with a frown, for he was still loth to 
let go the doctrines of the past; he tried to compel convic- 
tion into his accent, having already failed to compel it into 
his mind. 

“ You’ve been to other houses. You were young, but you 
' were never stupid— I’ll vouch for that. Did you never see, 
in any of those houses, a wife held cheap ? ” 

“ Don’t,” she said imploringly, “ don’t put it that way ; 
mama never does, and she must know if it s dangerous or 
not.” 

“ Never mind your mother’s knowledge ; she sees these 
matters merely from the social side. Think for yourself. 
Have you never felt a doubt or suspected a difficulty?-” 

Awed by his intensity, seen for the first time, she released 
an already weakened grasp upon mock sensation and forced 
her mind obediently backwards. 

“ I don’t know ; I can’t remember ; I won’t remember. I 


40 The Comedy of Protection j 

suppose there were unhappy marriages among them, but— 
it was the wife’s fault, I’m sure. She had no pluck, or she 
was ugly ; I couldn’t go under in that way.” 

‘‘A few years with some of the men society tolerates J 
would efface more beauty and more spirit than you’ve got,” 
he insisted pitilessly, his vehemence addressed as much to 
his own weakness as to hers. ‘‘You must give it up, 
Griselda, this trade you’ve been told to drive here. It isn’t 
safe. You must promise to give it up.” 

“ That’s a big promise to give to— to a stranger,” she 
said, with an access of defiance. 

“ I’m no stranger; I’m a friend.” 

But he was aware, even as he offered the platitude, that 
she would yield to no argument of that sort. She sat 
silent, looking fixedly at him, waiting, so it seemed to his 
now nervous imagination, for that real attack he was bound 
to make, in spite of reason, of habit, of all the boundary 
fences set by discretion and ambition. 

“ I’m your friend,” he said again, but with an entirely 
new inflection, the significance of which she did not fail to 
recognize. “ I don’t want to see you spoilt or hurt.” 

“ You needn’t look,” she said. 

“ I try to think so, but — there’s too much color ; your 
eyes, Griselda, your necklace ” He broke off. ^ 

She made no rejoinder, and it was again as though she 
waited until his caution should evacuate the position it had 
so vainly taken. 

The music had stopped ; the room was very still : only the 
subdued hum of voices came from behind the curtain. 

The young man decided to take his defeat with at least 
an air of autocracy. 

“ You shall not go into that market. You don’t under- 
stand it, and I do. Your fairy prince will never save you, ^ 
you most sweet and most foolish little girl, but I can and ' 
will. You shall come with me; do you hear, Griselda? ” 

“Yes,” she said automatically, for the instigating spirit 
had deserted her for good, and she was a doll in the hands ^ 
of destiny, and destiny wore the shape of a man with queer, 


The Comedy of Protection 41 

gray-green eyes, full of something that was neither eager- 
ness nor anger, but a mixture of both. Where was he going 
jto take her, and why could she not go with the old gay 
1 spirit of adventure warm in her breast? Why did it hurt 
j him to give, and her to take ? 

t ‘‘ Fm not rich,’' she heard him saying, as in some dream, 

^ but then I’m not a beast : I won’t hurt you or hold you 
j cheap. Is it enough ? ” 

She drew a long breath. 

‘‘ It’s too much,” she said feebly, ‘‘ I can’t — I won’t — I 
\ daren’t. You don’t understand.” 

Oh yes, I do,” he reassured her. ‘‘ You didn’t suppose 
I could afford to listen to your case, but I choose to think 
' I’m independent to that extent. You see, you can’t be par- 
' ticular ; you can’t ask much. A house, a horse ; I can 
I promise these — in time.” 

^ She smiled with wet eyes, grateful for this lightening of 
’ the atmosphere. 

' ‘‘ Say it’s a game,” she begged childishly, ‘‘ say you’ve 

been amusing yourself.” But he would say nothing of the 
sort. 

‘‘ I shouldn’t dream of amusing myself in this fashion,” 
i he answered stiffly ; then, as her eyelids fell, his amiability 
returned. ‘‘ Can’t you bring yourself to like the idea — and 
; me? ” 

I With an effort she produced the smile of coquetry. It 
^ was easier, she found, to give than the expression of that 
inner wealth of gratitude so indissolubly mixed with shame. 

“ I like you immensely. You’ve not got a beard or a bald 
head; you’re not an ass like Mr. Hareton, or a pompous 
old idiot like Mr. Dolman-Connie.” 

, ‘‘ All negative charms,” he said, finding sufficient con- 

^ tradiction of her terms in the look she lifted to him. ‘‘ You 
couldn’t find a positive one ? ” 

“ A dozen. I like your teeth, and your slow voice, and 
the way you move — and your temper,” she finished auda- 
ciously. 

‘‘ My temper? You don’t mean to say I expose it? ” 


<j.2 The Comedy of Protection | 

‘‘ No, but you let us feel it’s there — an invisible force 
that we’d better not invoke unless we’re prepared for 
rough weather.” 

He laughed, but without much animation. I 

'' Well — if you’re satisfied, Griselda ” ; but the words 
brought her a chill memory. 

Don’t say that ; it’s what you said about Alva. Are you i 
quite, quite sure that it isn’t her you want ? ” 

I’ve wanted her,” he answered lightly, as I’ve often 
wanted an hour of music or illusion ; now I want you in a 
far more mundane and exacting fashion. Suppose you tell 
me if, and how much, you want me? ” i 

How much did she want him ? It was not a question to 
be answered that night or for many nights. Already she 
had begun to suspect that this battle with destiny, embarked 
upon so flippantly, won so easily, was not what it had 
originally professed to be, what Lady Southern would be | 
sure to call it. What had she taken with the triumph of | 
the night? What could she hold? What treachery lurked | 
in the breast of the captive she had disarmed and worsted 
with such astonishing speed? Had she touched his heart 
with that stolen key, or just a man’s fancy ? and how did one 
grasp so ephemeral a prize? 

He was waiting for the answer to his question, and there 
were hundreds she could have given him. She could have 
told him that she wanted him as the Peri wanted to pass 
the gate of Paradise, and she could have told him that she 
wanted him as a common relief-officer ; she could have told i 
him that his offer had drawn for her a magic circle, in j 
which her pulse danced like some fevered victim of the ! 
tarantula, and she could have told him that she wanted I 
him to stand between her dainty person and the brutal, | 
egotistical, social world ; she could have told him the truth, | 
with its mingled array of romantic fancies and coarse facts, 
but she knew, by an instinct she probably owed to her ' 
mother, that such facts and such fancies would be alike dis- 
tasteful to him. 

She understood that he had been betrayed into a rare and ! 


43 


The Comedy of Protection 

an expensive impulse, and she thought to see the conscious- 
ness of a fretting pride already at work upon his serenity. 
He wanted reassurance much as Alva had wanted it an hour 
before ; he wanted to be told that he had stooped of his own 
will to shelter an unfortunate, and that his sacrifice had been 
made by an intelligent and chivalrous mind, not by a com- 
mon weakness of sex. 

I want you very much,” she began irresolutely, '' but it’s 
all so new and surprising, and — whatever will mama have 
to say to it ? ” 

This was a happy question, for it gave the young man an 
opening for declaring his independence of Lady Southern’s 
opinion. 

It doesn’t matter what she says. She’ll probably call it 
nonsense, but don’t you pay any attention. My chances 
aren’t much to boast about, but they’re good enough for us. 
You’re so young that you won’t mind waiting a year or 
two ” 

But here Griselda broke in with an exclamation of dire 
dismay. A year or two ! oh no ! mama wouldn’t hear 
of it.” 

She’ll have to,” he retorted. ‘‘ I’m not in the least 
afraid of Lady Southern, and there’s no need for you to be 
either. I’ve a little money of my own, and — and I’ve cer- 
tain prospects ” He broke off in some embarrassment, 

aware that he was actually considering a position from 
which he had hitherto stood proudly aloof. 

“ Mama likes you very much,” said the girl incautiously, 
intent only upon dispersing that sudden cloud about his 
eyebrows. ‘‘ She won’t mind your not being rich, so long 
as you’re not quite impossibly poor ; she can’t expect me to 
make a grand marriage ” — then she too stopped, in her turn 
conscious that a new idea had invaded the mind of her 
companion, and that he was looking intently, suspiciously, 
not so much at her as through her at some distant and 
quite unexpected point of view exposed by her artless 
remarks. 

“ She likes me very much,” he murmured ; she doesn’t 


44 The Comedy of Protection 

expect you to make a grand match ; she lent you that neck- 
lace ; she's given me many opportunities of making acquaint- 
ance with you during this last week, and — and she's a very 
fine performer on the piano and the violin." 

Yes," said Griselda fearfully. But what are you 
thinking about ? " 

He was thinking of a certain piece of information, until 
now regarded as irrelevant to any serious occasion, viz., that 
a certain sister-in-law of his and his mother-in-law-to-be 
had met some months before, at a momentous time ; he was 
thinking of a main tendency in each lady, with the result 
that his uninterrupted evening's amusement began to as- 
sume something other than a coincidal character. 

“ Ways and means," he said, with no very perceptible 
delay, and to her relief and astonishment she found an 
added degree of tenderness in his scrutiny. It never oc- 
curred to him, even for a moment, to include this pretty, 
confiding child in his sudden suspicion; instead, an added 
impulse of pity moved him as he saw her netted with him- 
self in the toils of an intriguing worldling. He was con- 
vinced that, with a sagacity little short of devilish. Lady 
Southern would have left him an ineligible, knowing well 
that though she might coax her daughter's tongue into ugly 
expression, she would never be able to compel the frank 
and generous heart behind it to further her detestable cause. 

I'm collecting the arguments best suited to persuade your 
mother that my offer is not quite as presumptuous as 
it sounds. Do you think I shall be a match for her, 
Griselda ? " 

I think you would be a match for any one, if you decided 
to exert yourself," she told him, with a flattering air of sin- 
cerity. 

You're going to trust me, then," he said, and took her 
soft, curved face between his hands. At the touch all the 
complexity, all the duplicity, all the fear and shame went 
out of her. 

I love you," she whispered ; I love you, Harry Dorset, 
truly I do. I was a child till I saw you, but I'll never be a 


The Comedy of Protection 45 

child again. I don’t want to : it’s all growing dim, the years 
behind.” 

“ What ! ” he mocked, but with hardly restrained passion, 
‘‘the fairy prince is dead? You’ll go with an earth-man, 
you strange, sweet, reckless little Griselda? You can love 
all of a sudden, at a first word, at a look? It doesn’t sound 
reasonable or very safe. I’m not sure that we’re acting 
wisely, but — but there really isn’t any other way to act, as 
far as I can see and feel.” 

His arm was about her, holding her close, his face was 
pressed to her own. She closed her eyes, and two tears 
of utter content slipped from them and down her cheek. 
Presently they reached his, and if anything were needed 
to finish the work of subjugation, they served that pur- 
pose. 

Lady Southern might have chosen a happier moment for 
her intrusion, but she could not have chosen a more dramatic 
one. 

The faint rattle of the curtain rings brought the young 
man rather hurriedly to his feet, but it was not confusion 
that animated his prompt greeting of her. 

“ I’m much obliged to you for your seductive music,” he 
said with his customary deliberation. “ I had something to 
say to your daughter that wanted just such an accompani- 
ment as that you so kindly provided. In point of fact. 
Lady Southern, I have been making her an offer of mar- 
riage.” 

- She met his scornful glance bravely. 

“ That’s a very decisive action,” she said calmly, “ and it’s 
much too late to discuss it to-night; besides, Mrs. Fawcett 
might have cause to complain of my manners, as well as 
yours, if we linger here any longer. Shall we say to-mor- 
row — in the library — at — at ten o’clock?” 

“ That will suit me very well ; and we’ll have our ride 
after lunch,” he added, turning to Griselda. “ Now don’t 
worry or imagine we are going to disagree. I’m convinced 
I can persuade your mother that she is not the woman of 
the world she professes to be ; she won’t deny us our cottage 


46 The Comedy of Protection 

and our pony and our dinner of herbs, Griselda, so don’t He 
awake and anticipate trouble.” 

No, my dear, we won’t quarrel,” Lady Southern chimed 
in, because we both want the same thing — your happiness ; 
though I’ve no doubt we shall have to argue a little about 
the ingredients that go to the production of that state.” 

Added to Harry’s irritation and animosity was a grain of 
reluctant admiration for her pluck in facing a difficult posi- 
tion. At least she sank to no expletives of astonishment or 
satisfaction; she convinced him of her duplicity, but she also 
convinced him that he had a clever woman to deal with, one 
who offered him, at all events, the pleasant prospect of a 
war of wits. 

He bowed, took the curtain from her hand and drew it 
back politely, thus intimating that they were prepared to 
follow her into the adjoining room. But she lingered to 
send a smile in her daughter’s direction. 

You are not the only deserters this evening,” she said 
softly. Peter and Miss Dane have also made themselves 
conspicuous by absence. We have whispered the answer to 
that riddle behind our fans, but, if I’m not much mistaken, 
it is now being spoken aloud.” 

It was apparent she was not mistaken. The drawn cur- 
tain revealed an animated concourse of people. Peter had 
betrayed his tale of conquest to his hostess, and in her 
delight she had instantly passed it on. Alva was the center 
of a congratulative group ; and Griselda only paused long 
enough to observe that her friend looked satisfied, almost 
happy, before she took advantage of the general excitement 
to effect her escape. 


CHAPTER V 


SOME OF THE HORRID DETAILS OF WAR 

If she hoped to be left undisturbed to her ruminations 
she was doomed to disappointment. Her mother's rap 
upon the door was a summons it was impossible to ignore, 
but Lady Southern, coming in radiant with satisfaction and 
approval, found herself in a threatening atmosphere. 

Griselda had discarded her muslin frock; she wore a 
dressing-gown of ugly gray flannel, her hair lay in thick 
short curls upon her neck and shoulders; in her hand she 
swung the emeralds and she looked at the intruder with the 
air of an animal at bay. 

“ Oh, dear ; surely you're not going to be hysterical," the 
mother observed plaintively, taking by instinct the only 
comfortable chair in the room. For answer the girl flung 
the necklace upon the dressing-table, where it lay winking 
its innumerable green eyes with sinister effect. 

Mama, I can't go on — I can't take him this way. I 
didn't know what I was doing. I thought it was just a joke 
as well as a way out of our difficulties; but it isn't, it's 
something else, and I'm frightened." 

‘‘ There's nothing to be frightened at, my dear. Of course 
we all have to take a good many queer chances along with 
the ring. Mine was a case of ‘ for worse ' instead of ‘ for 
better,' " she added, giving a petulant twist to her own sym- 
bol of matrimony, ‘‘ but I've every confidence that your 
future is to be more satisfactory." 

‘‘ Alva doesn't love him — Peter, I mean," Griselda began 
to murmur irrelevantly, ‘‘ and some day — some day, — oh, I 
can't take the responsibility." 

‘‘ In that case I'm afraid I must ask you to take your 
47 


48 Some of the Horrid Details of War 

share of certain other responsibilities/' said the elder woman 
coldly. ‘‘ I'm afraid it devolves on me to explain that our 
poverty isn't the sort that dares to go in rags ; we've got to 
look like everybody else or be expelled, and I don't think 
you've grasped the sort of place that people of our class 
are expelled to. It's not the cottage of ivy and honey- 
suckle, it's not the sweet peace of independent solitude. 
No; seclusion and the simple life are hobbies for the 
wealthy. We go down to dishonor and subterfuge if we | 

lose our place ; we have to live on the success of our untir- | 

ing efforts to please our independent neighbors. We live 
on their charity, or worse still their folly. Must I go on ? " 
No, no." 

“You'll be sensible?" 

“If only he hadn't been so kind, so sorry for me," mur- 
mured the girl as before. 

“ If, if," said her mother impatiently, “ if things were as 
they should be we shouldn't need to work for a living in 
this way. But you must understand, once for all, that I 
can't give you another game for to-morrow — this mad game 
of retraction. You see," she added more mildly, “it 
wouldn't go off so pleasantly. To-night, Griselda, you were 
urging people in the way they all — subconsciously — wanted 
to go, but it would be a very different matter urging them 
all back again, and when it's done — when you and I are left 
together with our very queer reputation for practical joking 
— with our empty purses — our sheaves of bills — our haunt- 
ing memories of brighter days — don't you think that a 
doubt as to the wisdom of your choice will perhaps be likely 
to add something to our miseries ? " 

“ There's Aunt Mary, she's always kind." 

“ Kind, yes — in her scrappy — little way. It's easy enough 
to be kind when you've all the luck." 

“ Luck, mama ? Why, she lost her husband too — shot by 
a fanatic native in India — before ever he could get home 
and inherit. Poor Aunt Mary, she hasn't had much better 
luck than we have." 

“ It was unfortunate of course," the other allowed, “ but 


Some of the Horrid Details of War 49 

she’s had The Court all these years, during Peter’s 
minority, and now if he marries and turns her out she’s got 
a fortune of her own to amuse her. It’s dependence that 
cuts to the bone, Griselda. Allow me to know rather more 
of life than you do.” But Griselda only shivered and 
turned her face towards the firelight. 

It was so dreadfully easy,” she began once more, ‘‘ so 
mysteriously easy. They scarcely fought at all. Alva 
took Peter and Harry took me just because I asked them. 
At the time it didn’t seem so strange. I cared so much, 
and they seemed to care so little, — ^but now the play’s over — 
the lights are out — and I’m afraid. I’m afraid.” 

‘‘ To-morrow, my dear child, I shall show you some 
letters.” 

‘‘ Letters, mama ? ” 

‘‘ Letters from dressmakers, from hotel proprietors, 
from carriage proprietors, from anybody and everybody 
who caters for the comfort of our class. From trades- 
people and servants, from friends who lent you money in 
ignorance, or enemies who advanced it in complete under- 
standing.” 

She paused, for the girl had pressed her hands to her 
ears; but presently, as if in sudden shame at her own 
cowardice, she took them away, and looked once more at the 
worn beauty opposite. 

Lady Southern spoke again, but with less asperity. 

“ I used to put my hands over my ears, but I too had to 
take them away again. Now, don’t look so desperate; your 
position is not the same as mine, and if I have a grain of 
influence over you it never shall be. Be calm and reason- 
able, and answer me a few questions. Do you want to 
marry Dorset merely for what he can give you ? ” 

'‘No, you know I don’t. You know I like him; every- 
body likes him, though he won’t always let them say so. I 
could have loved him, if only — if only all those awful 
thoughts weren’t between us.” 

" Exactly, and I knew this when I urged you to exert 
yourself. We only meet one right man in all our lives. 


50 Some of the Horrid Details of War 

Griselda; and if we send him away to please our pride or 
any lesser thing than genuine feeling — he never comes back, 
and life is a very tame affair, even for the wealthy. We 
are disappointed and embittered, and we wreak this disap- 
pointment on all about us. Our tempers go, and our little 
acts of kindness and charity. We are beggared ourselves, 
and so we have nothing to give away to others. Don't you 
think, dear, that you have taken rather a good view of the 
situation ? ” 

Oh, how I should like to think it ! ” said Griselda wist- 
fully ; but I took advantage of him. Some day he'll find 
it out, and then he'll hate me, and — and — I couldn't bear to 
be hated ! " 

And can you bear the life I have to offer you any 
better?" 

Griselda whitened before the curt question. For a min- 
ute so she stared before her into vacancy; then she 
shivered. 

“ No," she said, scarcely above her breath. "" I couldn't — 
I can't." 

You're going to be sensible, Griselda? " 

I'm going to take happiness and Harry Dorset, not be- 
cause I'm entitled to them, but because I can't resist tempta- 
tion. I must get away from — from " 

“ From me," said Lady Southern, so mournfully that the 
girl turned on her with a new expression. 

Why do you want it so much ? " she asked in a troubled 
voice. 

‘‘ Why do I want you to escape ? Because you're my 
child, and, though I'm no pattern mother. I've got some- 
thing of the old primeval instinct to protect my young. I 
know what it means, and I can bear it better by myself." 

Griselda's face began to quiver, and it was plain that 
remorse would finish what other and less worthy motives 
had begun — the subjugation of the spirit of opposition. 

“ Oh, mama — I didn't think — I didn't understand — I 
wasn't fair to you." 

No, dearest. That was my fault. I put the story in 


Some of the Horrid Details of War 51 

other ways, because I wanted you to get away without feel- 
ing unkind. Now you are not to cry or to fancy you have 
been cruel and selfish. It was a mistake, and if it has hurt 
me, it is entirely my own fault for being so secretive with 
my real feelings.’' 

She concealed her face behind a delicate strip of cambric, 
fearful lest the joy upon it should arouse the suspicion of 
her now thoroughly subdued companion. But Griselda’s 
heart had no room left in it for doubt; she ran to her 
(presumably) weeping mother and threw impulsive arms 
about the lady’s elegant form; she pressed her warm, wet 
cheek to the one behind the handkerchief. 

If only you’d told me this instead of the other horrid 
things ! It hurts, but not in the same way. I’d a thousand 
times rather be a beast myself than think that you — 


‘‘ That I was one,” Lady Southern suggested. 

‘‘ Well, yes. You see, I always thought you didn’t want 
me in the holidays; that’s why I was so glad to go away 
and leave you. I never guessed you were cutting yourself 
off from me because you were in trouble and you wanted 
me to escape it. I thought you wanted me to marry be- 
cause — I was rather expensive and rather a nuisance. And 
all the time, you poor, lonely, unhappy little mother, you 
were working for my happiness. Well, I’ll take it, and I’ll 
try to forget the ugly way it came to me, but you must 
have a share in it. I can’t leave you all alone to that terrible 
struggle. You must live with us — yes, I shall insist. Harry 
won’t mind. He likes being kind to people. We’ll have 
chickens in that country home of his, and a garden, and a 
dogcart in which I’ll drive you all over the country, and in 
the autumn we’ll be quite gay. We’ll have men down to 
shoot, and two or three of my school-friends, and give them 
a good time to make up for all they’ve done for me. Oh, 
it’s just too good to be true, though the moral is shocking.” 
She finished with a slight fall of enthusiasm. 

Lady Southern strangled a wild desire for hysteric laugh- 
ter at the thought of herself established for life in a rural 


52 Some of the Horrid Details of War 

solitude, but she contrived to return* the girl’s embrace with 
satisfactory ardor. 

‘‘ I can’t live with you, dear. It wouldn’t be fair to 
Harry. But I shall come and stay with you” (“in the 
autumn,” she added mentally), “and I shall always have 
the thought of your safety to keep me happy and contented. 
Now I must go to bed or I shan’t be able to interview Harry 
at ten o’clock. I hope to persuade him that Uganda is now 
quite out of the question.” 

“You won’t do that, mama; he says we shall have to 
wait.” But the elder lady only smiled with an air of myste- 
rious confidence, and took her departure more than satisfied 
with her evening’s work. 


CHAPTER VI 


A TREATY IS SIGNED BUT RATHER CARELESSLY SEALED 

Lady Southern felt confident that, unless provoked to 
self-destruction by too rigorous a course of questioning, 
Griselda would not now admit a too-early acquaintance with 
her lover’s affairs, while he — she felt sure — would never 
stoop to question what he had elected to honor. He would 
condescend and she would smile, and the dangerous layer 
of antagonistic feeling would dissolve between them. On 
the following morning she went down to meet her adversary 
with plenty of optimism behind the slight flutter in her 
breast. She was at a decided advantage in that she took a 
pretty accurate view of a character pride had restricted, 
while she offered in return one in which fundamental insin- 
cerity and consistent egoism were the only ingredients he 
could as confidently schedule. Her enemy was in the open, 
while she was serenely aware of a multitude of holes and 
corners in which she should not hesitate to take refuge in 
emergency. 

She offered him her hand and smiled with a feigned cor- 
dialit}/- for which she had herself arranged repulse. His 
stiff acceptance of a gracious overture set him at an early 
disadvantage, and her half audible sigh marked for her the 
first score in the game. It was inevitable that, slyly ac- 
cused of discourtesy, he should start the attack with more 
heat and less tact than he had intended. 

‘‘ I tell you frankly. Lady Southern,” he said, establishing 
himself on a chair exactly opposite hers, that Pm per- 
fectly aware of being in some measure a tool to your in- 
terest. I succumbed to pressure, but please don’t make the 
mistake of supposing me ignorant of the pleasure.” 

He concealed, and she knew that he concealed, the date 
53 


54 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

when suspicion had come to him, but it suited her purpose 
to aflfect unqualified acceptance of the assertion. 

‘‘You are quite right to be frank, Mr. Dorset. I knew 
the probable price of my venture when I decided to make it.’’ 

This ingenuous attitude was, at the least, disconcerting. 

“ You confess to forcing my hand,” he began with some 
hesitation, “ but, in the name of all that’s illogical — or shall 
I say far-fetched? — why?” 

“ But you’ve yourself announced your complete under- 
standing of the case.” 

“ I understand that you want to marry your daughter as 
quickly as possible, but I’m not pretending to understand 
why you select a man with no prospects, as you would count 
such things.” 

“ Oh, it is your real prospects, not this African legend, 
that induced me to throw Griselda in your way,” she ex- 
plained ; and again her candor worsted him. 

“ So my sister-in-law has made a confidante ! I’ll confess 
I guessed it ; but let me remind you that dead men’s shoes 
have a notorious habit of disappointing the heir-at-law. I 
think you build too confidently upon a nervous woman’s 
fears.” 

“ The nervous woman, Mr. Dorset, has a good many far 
from nervous men behind her.” 

“ Science, Lady Southern, has a good many mistakes to 
her record. She doesn’t talk about them, but her victims 
do. You’ll be the first to complain if my poor brother’s 
case swells the roll, as I confidently expect and hope it 
will.” 

She saw fit to double. She laughed, buf not with amuse- 
ment. 

“ All this I’m to suppose is a preliminary for your with- 
drawal. I don’t blame you; I shan’t try to hold you to 
your midnight enthusiasms. Men of your age always act 
upon impulse. They’re hot by candle-light and cold by day- 
light But where you disappoint us in quality you atone in 
quantity: there are plenty of you in every country house, 
in every Mayfair drawing-room; Griselda is very young. 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 55 

very pretty. I may fail once, twice, but I am bound to 
achieve my purpose in the end. She won^t understand; 
she’ll be tiresome ; she’ll suffer^ but that’s our lot in 
life.” 

My withdrawal ? ” he said sharply ; but I never even 
considered such an idea. My temperature. Lady Southern, 
is not influenced by candle-light or anything else that’s arti- 
ficial. You’ve entirely mistaken me. I’ve told you once, 
and I tell you again, my offer was made in full conscious- 
ness of what it entailed.” 

She opened her faded blue eyes in affected astonishment. 

‘‘ I’m very stupid. Then this — this ebullition of — of dis- 
dain — is meant to be decorative, not menacing? You ac- 
cept the position that you took last night, but you exact 
your test, your pound of cursing and swearing in drawing- 
room form? Well, I’m grateful for the form, and I’m still 
more grateful to you for launching your displeasure at me 
instead of my poor girl. You see, she’d have a difficulty in 
understanding.” 

‘‘ I should hope so,” he commented hotly. You’ve dis- 
figured the charm of her language, to some extent, but I 
hardly suppose even you would care to bewilder and disgust 
her with the story of values and sub-values connected with 
a person so apparently insignificant as myself; not yet, at 
all events, not until you have made a few of those attempts 
you spoke of. I give you credit for so much tact,” he 
added, and she saw her opening. It was necessary to con- 
vert this satisfactory impression into a solid belief, and 
again she laughed, this time with unmistakable and bitter 
scorn. 

‘‘ Oh, you’re shrewd enough to guess that, are you ? 
You’ve recognized her mental incapacity to accept my sordid 
doctrines? She’s a child — ^yes; and you can appreciate her 
innocence, her natural animosity towards all that is practi- 
cal. She’s a child, but have you ever thought what it costs 
us — the parents — to keep up that fascinating attitude of 
mind? Until yesterday I never told her the meaning of 
poverty, and she winced at the very first breath of it like a 


56 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

thoroughbred at a first bit. As for values and sub-values-. 

I might just as well have talked of dynamics or metaphysic, s, 
for all understanding of the topic she could or would have 
furnished. She’s no child of mine — I’ve always under- 
stood social values easily enough ; she’s a Southern through 
and through ; and what she gives to your appreciation of the 
picturesque she takes from the claim I might have made 
upon her sympathy and companionship. I’m to her very 
much what I am to you: a person to be politely evaded, to 
be delicately disdained. This isn’t rebellion of any sort; 
it’s the mere statement of hard fact.” 

There was profound knowledge of her subject under the 
faintly querulous note in which she uttered this complaint ; 
surreptitiously, warily, she drew the line that he wished to 
see between mother and daughter; with apparent uncon- 
sciousness she revealed to him the divorce that nature had 
pronounced — the very divorce for which he longed so ar-- 
dently. 

''There are nerves in Griselda,” she added, with the ■ 
same petulant air of reminiscence, " that I dare no more 
touch than the bombshell lying ready to explode. There are|) 
certain ideas, on which these primitive natures are founded, |i 
which we, worldlings though we are, fear to tamper with, |)| 
until compelled by dire necessity. Hard and cold as I am, ' 
I can yet recognize and, to some extent, pity this simplicity i 
in others. It makes me — well — we’ll say uncomfortable — 
to think of these peculiar people coming in contact with 
life ; they are so entirely at the mercy of all that is brutal in 
human nature. For this reason, if for no more egotistical 
one, I’m glad your mind is of the constant' order; only, I 
should like to warn you that simplicity — Griselda’s sort of 
simplicity — is very far from stupidity. Show her one-tenth 
of the patronage — ^we won’t call it contempt — that you’ve 
shown me this morning, and she’ll turn from you as naturally 
and as effectively as she turned to you last night. Already, 
if I am not much mistaken, she has begun to wonder if it 
was only pity that induced you to stretch out a helping 
hand; already she has begun to wonder if the whole sur- 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 57 

I prising episode was anything more than a delightful dream. 
If you want it to substantiate you will have to persuade her 
that there is no grain of reluctance in your mind. You 
'and I are essentially antagonistic, but I think we are at 
one in a desire to spare Griselda something of the knowledge 
that has spoilt for us the flavor of careless existence. You 
have read me pretty thoroughly, and Tm content to be 
branded by your disapproval, so long as you’ve the acumen 
not to brand her along with me; so long as you have the 
I generosity to forgive her her purely material relationship 
to myself.” 

He was aware of feeling very markedly in the wrong 
under the lash of this appeal. 

You can’t suppose,” he said uncomfortably, that I 
should dream of talking to her as — as ” 

“ As you are talking to me ? Oh no ; but you might have 
talked to her as though there were grains of what we’ll call 
my eccentricities in her, and a rupture could have sprung 
from a single careless look or word. Of course, this mar- 
riage is to my own interest — I can’t afford a grown-up 
daughter; but that doesn’t prevent it embracing the happi- 
ness of very different people. Now will you let me pass on 
the business side of the matter?” 

With pleasure. I go abroad almost at once ; leave here 
in a few days at latest — in fact, I may be called up to town 
at any time.” 

“ Don’t you think, under the circumstances, that you could 
resign the farce with dignity ? ” she asked ; but his mouth 
tightened ominously. 

You’ve taken the position. Lady Southern, but it re- 
mains just what it was when you thought it worth the exer- 
cise of your ingenuity.” 

She bowed gracefully to the obstinate in his demeanor. 

‘‘ And when do you expect to return to England, Mr. 
Dorset ? ” 

‘‘ In about three years, possibly less. Griselda is so 
young that I consider the delay an advantage.” 

She faced his air of defiance with irritating equanimity. 


58 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

It was plain that she regarded the three years with amuse- 
ment only. 

'' I presume that your brother's death would release you | 
from your duties ? " 

He was forced to own that the contingency she men- 
tioned had been included in his contract. 

Then there's only one more point : the engagement must 
be kept to ourselves ; society wouldn't swallow your Uganda 
prospects any more than I could have done, and we don't 
want to be a laughing-stock to our friends or to betray poor 
Annie's sad secret." 

Harry smiled rather sourly. 

'' Our united weaknesses certainly seem to demand tern- j 
porary reserve." 

Now you’re not to go away with the idea that I'm your | 
enemy," she said, rising to define the end of the interview, I 

for I'm nothing of the sort; I can't afiford the luxury of i 
having enemies. We were bound to have an uncomfort- j! 
able quarter of an hour, and we've certainly had it — at j 
least, I have — but I don’t bear malice. Shake hands, and ! 
believe me when I promise to play mother-in-law as unob- \ 
trusively as possible." [• 

He took her slim fingers with some degree of awkward- | 
ness. I 

I'm conscious of having failed in manners. Lady j 
Southern." Ij 

Then, if I've failed in morals, according to your code, ij 

we'll cry ‘ quits.' Besides," she added, not without a grain | 
of the malice she had disavowed, you're the indisputable | 
master of the occasion ; you're not the slave of passion we 
parents usually have to face." 

“ And Griselda is not to be worried ; that's the bargain," 
he said, by way of turning this not very pleasant subject. 

Promise me you won't talk to her about anything more 
serious than frocks." 

But frocks are a very serious question with us, Harry." 

Oh — well, don't talk to her at all. I suppose you 
couldn't take her into the country this spring ? " 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 59 

Lady Southern checked a rising grimace. 

Fm so sorry, but the country doesn’t suit me. The 
lambs bleat so, and I always end with hay fever; besides, 
she ought to be presented, you know.” 

This remark was purely tentative, and met with the 
response it angled for. 

I should prefer her to wait and be presented after her 
marriage. What about The Court ? Southern tells me you 
are always welcome there.” 

‘‘ The Court fidgets us both,” she explained ; “ that’s one 
of our few mutual sensations ; and then — there’ll be a bride 
in it before long.” 

So there will. It must be left to you, then? ” 

I think so. I’ll undertake to keep her happy ” ; and, 
with a rustle of silk petticoats, she left him to wonder how 
much of the victory had been his. 

She left him to a softened estimate of her, at all events. 
He was compelled to own that her actions had the spur of 
unkind fortune behind them, and from that thought it was 
easy and it was pleasant to drift into a sea of speculation 
concerning the unsuspecting girl round whom their war- 
fare had raged. 

But he seemed scarcely to have embarked upon this train 
of thought before a telegram was brought him, and he 
learnt that his movements were to be accelerated. He was 
commanded to present himself at the Colonial Office on the 
following morning, and, further, he was to hold himself in 
readiness to sail in three days’ time. 

At first he insisted that it was his objection to being 
hustled that roused in him so violent a spirit of rebellion, 
but presently his honesty gave to the sensation another 
name. He allowed that it was the curtailment of his inter- 
course with Griselda that dismayed him. She infected more 
than pity, it transpired, more than chivalry. An impulse, 
new and bold as that of the preceding night, was urging him 
to throw yet more of his constitutional prejudices over- 
board. He would go to the Colonial Office, and he would 
urge, in a fashion hitherto disdained, his brother’s state; 


6o Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed I 

he would explain that what he had tried to christen a con- | 
tingency was really a probability. There were always men | 
prepared to take these stepping-stones to advance at the ! 
last moment; he would be released — they could do nothing 
else, if he quoted, what he had hitherto kept back, the ab- 
solute unanimity of the different verdicts of Harley Street. 
He would allow that, reluctantly but indisputably, he had 
been convinced; but even as he reached the dry land of this 
conclusion and all it entailed, he was gripped by an ancient 
tendency and forced back on to his old ground. It was a 
single and an insignificant thought that effected the rescue — | 
the thought of Lady Southern's smile; but as a trifling 
detail sometimes alters a great issue, so did this. He could , 
play no further into those slim hands whose touch still 
lingered on his own. Dignity rebelled; knew, too, how to j 
exact penalty for past truancy. Taking all flippant sensa- I 
tion firmly in hand, he despatched his curt but acquiescent | 
answer to the authorities ; he wrote to Scotland, whither he 
now saw himself compelled to travel on the following night, 
if he wished to say ‘‘ good-by " to his brother, and he could j 
only promise the stifled spirit of sentimentality a few hours | 
of indulgence. i 

And, meanwhile, Griselda sat on the low window-sill of 
her mother's boudoir, prepared to meet her lover in the ' 
manner Lady Southern wished. I 

She wanted to love and be loved; she wanted kind I 
looks and flattering words — in sum, a passage for those 1 
divine sensations which had inspired her dreaming mind | 
and still haunted her memory. j 

She knew that Harry would turn from her if he knew 
the truth, but she also knew that the truth had an extenuat- 
ing quality in it that he would be far too inexperienced to 
detect. She loved him and she had intrigued for him; if he 
once looked at the intrigue he would never permit himself 
to look at the love. 

The garden below her had a face, the face of a sphinx ; it 
might be false, but it was incomparably beautiful. Her 
mother's face, to which she turned presently, summoned by | 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 6i 

the sound of an opening door, was full of vulgar prose be- 
neath its smile of triumph. 

‘‘ Don’t tell me anything, mama ; I know it all ; what you 
said, what he said, even what I’m going to say by-and-by. 
We’re to ride after lunch, and I won’t go to him any sooner. 
I’m always brave in a riding-habit.” 

Just as you please, dear. He didn’t ask for you — I 
fancy he’s letters to write; but you understand that there’s 
nothing to be afraid of, nothing to explain? ” 

‘'Yes, I understood that directly I saw your face. 
There’s one question, though ; what about Uganda ? ” 

“Uganda? — oh, he’s obstinate, but it will be a case of 
‘ the King of France, with twenty thousand men, marched 
up the hill and then marched down again ’ ; take my word 
for it, he’ll be back within the year.” 

“ I knew he’d go,” said Griselda defiantly, as she rose to 
leave the room. 

But later, in the saddle, much of the defiance and all the 
bitterness went out of her mood. At the luncheon table 
she had learned of Dorset’s abrupt departure, but the 
knowledge scarcely troubled her. She had something of 
the child’s devotion to the claims of the moment, and her 
thoughts were too firmly fixed upon this coming ride with 
him to allow any very serious meditation on the separation 
so swiftly to follow it. 

The little mare would be all wires and innocent mischief 
after a week of comparative idleness, and she loved to 
battle with the dainty creature ; and to-day there would be 
a second semblance of battle, there would be a yet sweeter 
wrestle with yet vaguer force, the force whose blood was 
illusion, in whom demand and surrender fought an eternal, 
a fascinating civil war. 

“ We’ll go a long way, Harry,” she said, as they wheeled 
out of the drive; and with her maiden utterance of his 
first name there came an enchanting air of embarrassment. 

Even without his new orders he would have been disin- 
clined to meddle with the delightful effect of innocent gaiety 
that animated her. It tickled his vanity, for the moment at 


62 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

least, to pronounce her immature, expensive, and adorable. 
The lover was too near the surface to risk this novel sensa- 
tion by tracking so ugly and so obscure a point as the 
possible conspiracy between mother and daughter. 

For an hour they kept up a brisk exchange of banter. He 
played the benignant despot, she the daring, pampered child- 
slave; she offered him whims and fancies, youthful and 
pretty weaknesses, and, if she chose to conceal some of the 
main tendencies of her personality, it was done as much 
in sympathy for his taste as in fear of self-betrayal. 

It was impossible, he found, to insert his more serious 
ideas into the charm of the hour. It was too short, too full 
of motiori, mental and physical, too full of sunshine. He 
would write to her later and explain what she was coaxing 
him to ignore — the solemnity of their compact. What a 
strange compact it was ! he paused more than once to con- 
sider. Did he really think to mate with this sparkling, 
pouting creature, this daughter of Bertha Southern, barely 
emancipated from her schoolroom? Was this really 
chivalry, this pulse beating at such unfamiliar speed in his 
temples? He tried to frown into the winter woodland, 
seeing that it was impossible to frown at her ; but there was 
laughter in every stream of running water set free by the 
sunshine, and the laugh was against him, and yet not dis- 
agreeable to him. 

For an hour enthusiaism kept the intoxicating pace ; then 
it slackened, and, by degrees, a note or two of melancholy 
cadence touched both minds, weakened, possibly, by too 
unqualified an acceptance of emotion. They had reached 
a narrow country lane, such an one as in mid-summer offers 
an almost prison-like seclusion to the heated traveler. Even 
now the leafless elms scarcely allowed a view of the sun, 
so closely were they packed on either side of the roadway, 
while underneath, the thick carpet of rotten leaves gave a 
soft and slippery foothold to the horses’ hoofs. The way 
wound uphill, and they took it slowly. 

“ Horrid,” said Griselda, with a shiver. “ It’s like an old, 
old man, who shuts himself up in his stuffery of a house 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 63 

and says, ' It is finished, take me away ; I'm ready for 
death.' " 

‘‘ That's better," he objected, than not being ready, bet- 
ter than being hauled off, kicking and protesting." 

‘‘ I shall be certain to kick and protest, Harry. I shall 
never be ready. Only seventy years, and — and — ^you're 
going to waste three of them in that awful country." 

‘‘ Perhaps I shan't be away quite so long as we fancy." 

“ You mean if your brother dies? " 

She made the momentous suggestion consciously. The 
finger of fatalism touched, for the moment, her weakened 
passion for enjoyment. To herself she was saying firmly: 
‘‘If he asks when mama told me, I shall confess; if he 
doesn't ask, it means that Providence doesn't mean me to 
tell." She never knew how many seconds of acute sus- 
pense followed the registration of this pregnant oath. Dor- 
set was looking at her, and she looked steadily back at him. 

“ So Lady Southern has told you," he said at last. 
“ Well, I'm not sorry; it was hardly fair to keep you in the 
dark. But you mustn't suppose — ^you mustn't hope — I 
mean, you must clearly understand that it's nothing more 
than a contingency, and one that means misfortune and sor- 
row to a good many others." 

“ I understand," she answered mechanically, and she still 
stared at him with parted lips, waiting for the question that 
should take him out of her life, the question that never 
came ; instead, he pointed forward with his whip. 

“ The top of this beastly hill. Give the mare a shake-up, 
or we shan't be in till after dark." 

She had obeyed ; the whip had fallen on a sleek flank, the 
horses had broken into eager movement, and they were in 
the open country again, with that sense of oppression out- 
witted. 

Well pleased with one another, they had reached the 
stable-yard at the hour when dusk is gathering, to find the 
place very still. From the distant windows of the kitchen 
came sounds of revelry; the grooms were plainly enjoying 
a little Christmas relaxation, and only a whinny from a 


64 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

loose-box gave welcome to the returned riders. It was the 
voice of Peter's idle hunter asking for sympathy under the 
affliction of this enforced spell of idleness. 

Griselda laughed as she passed him. Poor boy ! it was 
a shame to bring you here, where there are no foxes, only 
women." 

She looked with unmistakable coquetry at her com- 
panion; he had dismounted, and he stood below, waiting, 
apparently, for the pleasure of lifting her down. 

She slipped her knee over the pommel of the saddle, and 
hesitated. 

'' I never let anybody " she began saucily, and stopped, 

looked curiously into his upturned face. The mask had 
dropped: it was the face of a young, impulsive man; the 
mouth wore a half-smile ; the eyes were wide open and full 
of light; the arms were coming up to enfold her, and, in- 
voluntarily, she leaned down towards them. 

'' Only a boy," she said faintly, “ only a dear boy after 
all. Pm so glad." 

He forgot to wince at the accusation; he scarcely heard 
it. Dimly he was aware that his years of beloved self- 
sufficiency was being ridiculed, were paling, passing, joining 
the ghosts of unregarded conditions; vaguely he was con- 
scious that an old mistress cried, and that his treacherous 
heart cared nothing for her protest — cared only for the 
story written on that flushed child's face above, a story very 
nearly missed and oddly valuable. To the mischief and the 
entreaty, to the sweet, strange play of feature, and the yet 
sweeter and stranger movement of the young form down 
towards his clasp, there could be but a single answer. Had 
he forgotten it? Had he ever learnt it? Dare he pro- 
duce it? 

She slipped into his arms, but, as his emotion found 
courage and power of expression, hers suddenly chanced 
upon a vein of opposition. 

'' Not now — not yet," she gasped, and thrust her light 
riding-whip between their two faces. ‘‘ It's all too soon, 
Harry ; let me go — I'm frightened." 


Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 65 

Thanks to the prosaic touch of the leather on his cheek, 
he recaptured something of his old disposition. Back into 
his voice came the familiar ring, sweet, patronizing, and 
controlled. 

‘‘ Too soon for what, Griselda? What did you suspect — 
expect? ” But she wrenched herself free, and fled into the 
house to carry her scarlet cheeks to cover, and he disposed 
of the horses at his leisure, not ungrateful to her for that 
access of childish terror, since it restored to him, just in the 
nick of time, his ancient and still dear command of temper. 

There would be but a few moments of privacy in which, 
with luck, and Lady Southern’s assistance, he would con- 
trive to say good-by ” to her, and he vowed to go through 
the ceremony without a second lapse into what he now man- 
aged to christen an undignified excess of feeling. 

Luck and Lady Southern did not fail him, nor did the 
desired attitude. 

In the well-lit study, in a plain white frock, with her 
color reduced by nervousness and distress, Griselda was not 
so disturbing to his imagination as she had seemed in the 
stable-yard. 

‘‘You’ll be good and patient, won’t you?” he said, and 
watched the dimple appear at the corner of her mouth. 

“ Depends how long you stay away,” she said, with more 
courage than he had expected, and perhaps a little more 
than he cared about. 

“We don’t judge morals by time, Griselda, and your eyes 
are far too bright for this sad occasion.” 

She dropped them, and deliberately he set a kiss on each 
of the lowered lids. 

“ You’re to keep them shut till I come home,” he added, a 
trifle less steadily. 

“For three years!” she exclaimed, and looked at him 
with what professed to be indignation. 

“You may dream,” he conceded graciously. 

“ Of you, I suppose, all day and all night.” 

“ That goes without saying ; isn’t it good enough ? ” 

“ No, indeed!” 


66 Treaty Signed but Carelessly Sealed 

“ Then we’ll compromise. You must go to sleep, but you 
may talk a little in your sleep.” 

“ That’s a bargain, Harry Dorset, and don’t go back on 
it. People talk all sorts of nonsense in their sleep, and 
they’re not responsible.” 

“ Your carriage, sir.” 

The young man could only evince his superiority to the 
multitude by accepting the ill-timed information with an air 
of unruffled serenity, while Griselda took base advantage of 
the interruption to make her escape to her own room. She 
sat down on the edge of the bed, her heart thumping oddly 
as she listened to the scrunch of wheels on the gravel below, 
and the cheerfully indifferent voices of the guests wishing 
the traveler “ God-speed.” 


CHAPTER VII 


A HAUNTED HOUSE 

Most of the people in this narrative are connected with 
the county of Sussex. Mrs. Fawcett, indeed, came of the 
stock whose actual fingers were responsible for much of the 
luxuriance of the land. There was mental as well as phys- 
ical sinew in her progenitors, if not herself; it was as 
natural to them to push a prosperous way upwards as it was 
to the green saplings under their care ; and it was now a nice 
point whether the lady, into whose hands the greater portion 
of the family wealth had flowed, had built this central effigy 
to her importance over the very heart of her ancestral cot- 
tage home in answer to an impulse of legitimate pride, or 
in aristocratic disregard of the memories of her neighbors. 

The mansion was certainly assertive enough in style and 
rich enough in attributes, to tame the normal amount of 
antagonism in modern society. It stood in a bend of the 
coast between Beachy Head and Hastings, looking out to 
sea over a wide acreage of garden and pasture-land affecting 
at least the air of benign patronage proper to the time- 
scorner. 

Wearying, perhaps, of pompous assurance, and turning 
inwards and westwards towards an imaginary heart of 
Sussex, a pedestrian would have found himself, after an 
hour or two of cross-country work, before a building of very 
different aspect, one whose sole claim to notice was its gen- 
uine air of antiquity. 

A child might have designed this square and naked block 
of stone. A dozen tiny windows, placed at regular inter- 
vals, broke the monotony of the face, but the sides and the 
rear had obviously been sacrificed to the false economy that 
ruled not so very long ago, when light and air were regarded 

67 


68 


A Haunted House 


as the perquisites of the wealthy. Originally the place had 
possessed lands in keeping with its size, but these had been 
gradually sacrificed, now to the patriotic fervor of a 
Royalist, now to the ill-fortune of a gambler; soldiers had 
lived and loved and pretty consistently lost within these 
gloomy walls, until nature, wearying of their bad luck or 
their bad management, had obliterated the race a century 
back, and only this coffin-like memento of it remained. 

‘‘ The Monk's Revel " — for such a name could still, with 
difficulty, be deciphered on the ancient pillars by the gate — 
belonged ostentatiously to the past. Historical suggestion 
seemed to emanate from its gray walls, and melancholy, not 
to mention neglect, had assuredly '' marked it for her own." 
The rooks cawed mournfully in the elms behind the stable, 
and the grass was long, even under the front windows; 
while such flowers as there were in the diamond-patterned 
beds were mostly of the perennial genus, allowed to make 
little demand upon the purse or the attention of man. 

And this hint of indifference was confirmed by the house 
itself. No delicate muslin fluttered from behind the dark 
panes ; the curtains could only be deciphered by a keen eye 
on a bright morning, and then rare colors would form out 
of the darkness : a patch of Eastern red or blue — the gleam 
of silk, woven in some far distant clime ; occasionally, even, 
a bronze or marble nymph would detach herself from the 
shadows to charm the observer by a semi-revelation of her 
curved limbs. 

To the neighborhood, soured by long repulse, the place 
and its inhabitants were frankly irritating. The owner was 
a certain Silas Glover, connected with his property by the 
sole but conclusive right of purchase. He made no attempt 
to affect the manners of a feudal or a modern squire, though 
his wife, Gwendolen, might have posed, suitably enough, 
for the complement to such a boast. 

There was in her bearing the restraint of our grand- 
mother's day ; in her walk and in her carriage there was the 
reminder of the backboard. She spoke slowly and musically, 
with a slight lift of the voice at the end of her phrases that 


A Haunted House 


69 

gave to each a delicate finish. She was extremely tall, and 
only a trifle too thin for her inches, giving just the artistic 
hint of delicacy, not the disfiguring assertion. There was 
youth in her fair complexion, in the oval contour of cheek 
and chin, in her full lips ; but there was the enemy of youth 
in her great dark eyes. They seemed big and still, with their 
weight of mournful knowledge, and they alone were in com- 
plete harmony with the etfect produced by the masses of 
snow-white hair piled almost with eighteenth century elab- 
oration on the top of a small head. 

These physical incongruities might have been forgiven, 
might indeed have been approved, but the lady’s aloofness 
was another matter. Even since her arrival as a bride, she 
had endorsed her middle-aged husband’s attitude. There 
had been no friendship between The Monk’s Revel and the 
few houses of social import within walking or driving dis- 
tance. First calls had been responded to, but so slowly as to 
warn all but the most persistent that they were unwelcome, 
and only on rare occasions did Mrs. Glover go out of her 
way to pay, or to return, a civility. And these few oc- 
casions could invariably be traced to a business motive, to 
a command from the grim-visaged head of the house, for 
Glover was by no means an idle person. 

His father had been a wealthy manufacturer, the carver 
of his own fortune, a man of peasant blood and infinite reso- 
lution. He had married an American, plebeian as himself 
by birth, but aristocratic by temper. She had brought 
capital into his purse; she had helped to turn the scale of 
fortune already dipping in his favor; but, with fortune 
secured, Glover began to lose his nerve, began to realize the 
price charged by nature for financial supremacy. Pausing, 
almost for the first time, to rest and to meditate, fears and 
doubts assailed the overstrained mind ; the money frightened 
the man, spelling for him, suddenly, a force difficult to hold ; 
parsimony crept in beside speculative courage, and, rage as 
his wife would against this insidious enemy of her comfort, 
she found herself powerless to worst the invader. Silas, 
their only child, grew up with this quarrel loud in his ears, 


A Haunted House 


70 

and in his veins lurked the main tendencies of his parents. 
He wanted his ease, but he also wanted the thought of some 
secret hoard behind him as security against the possible 
attack of evil fortune; in addition, he wanted mental em- 
ployment. He became an orphan before he came of age, 
and he had his intentions already drawn up. For nearly 
twenty years he traveled, avoiding all friends and almoners ; 
he sought pleasure and profit in the far East and the far 
West, coming home at frequent intervals to keep an eye 
upon the investments he had placed in the hands of persons 
he took care to connect subtly with his interests. He bought 
curios, of whose value he was an almost uncanny judge, 
seeming to guess by instinct when a certain artist or a cer- 
tain class of art could be pushed with safety. He dealt in 
ancient pictures and modern bric-a-brac ; in grotesque ivories 
and weirdly colored glass; in tapestry and oak; even in 
houses and lands. He was seldom seen or spoken to by his 
clients, but for years after his return to England he worked 
tirelessly. Under his eye passed every document appertain- 
ing to purchase or sale ; and this house in which he estab- 
lished himself was a veritable museum for such articles as 
had bloomed slightly in advance of their market. He had 
sufficient education to enable him both to enjoy the posses- 
sion of these valuables and to suck from each a fair share 
of artistic pleasure before committing it to the task of aug- 
menting his already large fortune. 

He wrote more or less authentic, but always impressive, 
history of these art treasures, and he knew how to get such 
history inserted in the magazines at the right moment, thus 
ensuring a welcome for the particular commodity he wished 
to exploit. 

He was cold-blooded, long-headed, and apparently free 
from any taint of sentimentality, but at forty-four he suc- 
cumbed to one of those lapses from natural tendency to 
which all flesh is heir — to a creature with tragic eyes, whose 

no — no — no ’’ turned his iron will to water for the time 
being. He had understood the card-sharping old father, 
with his good blood (disgraced a hundred times), well 


A Haunted House 71 

enough. He had been no dupe, but had yielded to unex- 
pected and irresistible inward pressure; and with his ex- 
pensive new curio beside him, he had set himself to work 
to deduce from it what he could of satisfaction. At first 
she fascinated him by her graceful aloofness of demeanor, 
but presently she began to irritate. He could make no head- 
way. She was suspiciously meek for a woman of such fine 
temper ; she followed too readily his demand for seclusion ; 
she, not yet come to her maturity, a girl of twenty, asked 
of him and of fortune no more than her bed and board. 
Even his egoism saw the incongruity of it. He had trav- 
eled ; he was ready for his armchair and retrospection ; but 
that she should be content to be buried with him, ancient 
Eastern fashion, piqued his intelligence. He searched for 
hidden streams of rebellion, but in vain. Contentedly, or at 
least passively, she wrought in silk the gay patterns other 
women wrought into their lives, and many a wonderful strip 
of embroidery passed from her clever fingers to adorn the 
country church where she worshiped alone Sunday after 
Sunday. 

She dipped into the rare books her husband collected ; but 
when the one in which she studied was sent away (as often 
for the pleasure of denuding her as not), she moved calmly 
on to another. For years no method of provocation, how- 
ever ingenious, could surprise or prick her into any show 
of emotion, but Silas, looking back, could smile sourly at a 
single memory. Like his father, he had been accorded an 
only child — a boy — and Anthony, at four years old, had 
begun to stammer quaint conceits into the ear of any who 
would listen. And suddenly her face had broken into move- 
ment; nonsense came occasionally to her lips; laughter 
welled up in those tragic pools out of which she looked so 
patiently on life. She had forgotten her husband and her 
fate, and on a wave of passion, half jealous, half physio- 
logical, his interest had returned to speculate more fiercely 
than ever about this secret woman at his hearth. 

She had been eluding him; she had been suppressing 
values; she was more sentient than he had supposed, and 


A Haunted House 


72 

that sentiency must be set to work for him. She must cater | 
more actively to his curiosity. She had a secret — that he 1 
had always known ; but he had imagined it to be the common I 
female secret that accompanies a loveless marriage. He had | 
fancied her energies atrophied by romantic disappointment, | 
but the dead thing stirred; he had the power to hurt and | 
she the power to suffer. In the light of this revelation her | 
reserve took a new significance. He did not want the i 
secret; he wanted, instead, the sight of her anxiety as she 
realized that his suspicion was alive again, in a more active 
form, too; he wanted to dangle detection over a head 
conscious, he now felt certain, of important issues in the 
concealed point. She had been so quick to note his renewed 
attention, so quick and so drastic in her response to it. 
Abruptly, but not ungently, she had released her skirt from 
the child’s clinging fingers; abruptly the nonsense and the 
laughter ceased to sound. He was no fool, and he found 
the inference obvious. She feared to bring the little boy 
into her circle of disaster or disgrace; she drew back, and 
time pressed on. The child learned to take his questions to 
his nurses — to his tutors; he learned to relegate his lovely 
mother to the only place she could not disown — that of 
chief ornament in a cheerless home. 

For years the game of persecution went on, to the tireless 
enjoyment of the man, to the helpless misery of the woman. 
Glover would throw out suggestions and questions calcu- j 
lated to alarm and bewilder; Gwendolen would reply to 
them with a gentle ambiguity she knew he found incrimin- 1 
ating. The dilatoriness of his methods puzzled as well as j 
tormented her; but when Anthony was ten years old she 
obtained a partial release. 

Glover had a stroke, brought on by one of his rare indul- 
gences in emotion. He was sitting with his boy, when a 
letter acquainted him with the treachery of one of his 
employees. The supposed tool had been a little too sharp 
even for his astute master. The sum involved was serious, 
though not by any means disastrous; but Glover collapsed 
before the ignominy of the unsuspected attack, and went 


A Haunted House 


73 

through phase after phase of passion. Anthony watched 
this first revelation of weakness with a curiosity quite 
untainted by fear or by pity. When it culminated in a 
seizure, when he saw the man fall to the ground with dis- 
torted face and limbs, he offered a certain amount of prac- 
tical assistance : he loosened his father's collar, he gave him 
water, and finally, he went to summon assistance; but he 
went with reluctance, almost as though he feared some fas- 
cinating, new manifestation might take place during his 
absence. 

Glover never recovered the full use of his limbs or his 
faculties. He could talk, though he rarely did so, and the 
horrible pastime in which he had so long indulged seemed 
to sink more or less into the backwater of his mind. He 
often threw malevolent glances in the direction of his wife, 
he still addressed her with sarcasm; but his deformity 
imprisoned him in an ever-narrowing circle of routine, and 
what little mental ingenuity was left to him was chiefly 
employed in his business. Even here he was forced to 
depend more and more upon the sagacity and the honesty 
of a young secretary he had been training for some years 
previous to his breakdown, and, oddly enough, the man 
served him with zeal and devotion, as did Carter the valet — 
presumably from fear, for there was, assuredly, nothing to 
esteem in their grim master. 

He spent his days in the study, on the ground floor, only 
joining his family at breakfast and dinner, for which meals 
he was wheeled in on the invalid chair which he seldom left, 
and in which he took his short spells of recreation, conveyed 
up and down the drive on sunny mornings by the energetic 
Carter. 

In this melancholy domestic atmosphere Anthony grew 
up. He went to no school, but his father chose his tutors 
with care. They were many, for the boy was difficult and 
the house lugubrious. Some went of their own accord, but 
many were expelled by the artifice of the precocious youth, 
who could gauge, with remarkable astuteness, the type with 
which he had to deal; and if it failed to appeal to his 


A Haunted House 


74 

peculiar taste, he was not slow to make the position unten- 
able to a gentleman of any susceptibility. Even at fourteen, 
Anthony was averse to grooves; he wanted variety of 
thought, perhaps because he got little of action. Directly 
his tutor’s mind ceased to stimulate, he set to work upon 
the man’s dismissal, but in so roundabout and crafty a man- 
ner as to baffle protest. He picked these varied brains 
(Oxford products, for the most part) with the greed of a 
gourmet, just as he had picked the illuminative points from 
his father’s seizure. His mother’s personality pandered to 
the lighter and vaguer qualities of his mind. The scrutiny 
of her became his favorite recreation. He could disen- 
tangle so much suspicion, so much conviction; enough to 
tickle, never to satisfy, his imagination. Her girlhood must 
have been a time of storm and stress — witness that prema- 
turely white head ; her marriage could have been no common 
concession to her pride. Investigation was compelled to 
circle, never to alight on, any definite conclusion. The 
mystery was insoluble, and therefore it preserved its charm. 

Until the age of nineteen Anthony’s life might have been 
pretty nearly divided into two : the creation of mental adven- 
ture, and the destruction of animal life under the decorous 
name of sport. 

Then came a demand for change of scene — for width of 
canvas. The tutor of that day spoke of travel, and the 
young man eagerly embarked upon a battle with the old one j 
in the cupboard, as he irreverently termed his father. It | 
was not the first. More than once he had twisted money j 
from those reluctant fingers; for Silas was secretly proud 
of his handsome, heartless son : he felt himself to be subtly 
flattered by that son’s tenacity and deliberation; he recog- 
nized his own will recreated, preserved to posterity. 

Anthony went abroad: to Paris, to Constantinople, to 
Cairo, to certain French winter resorts where Londoners 
congregate. Financed for a year, his luck at the gaming- 
table — to which he eventually found his way — carried the 
two young men, of whom it would be hard to say which 
was tutor and which pupil, into an extra six months of 


A Haunted House 


75 

experience, and they returned to England during the winter 
that had seen the assembling and dispersing of Mrs. Faw- 
cett’s house-party. His education now considered complete, 
and no plans for his future being advanced, Anthony settled 
down to a term of seclusion. 

He had no intention of allowing it to be unduly prolonged, 
but for the moment he was conscious of a desire for solitude 
and introspection. He wanted to schedule the experience 
of the past in a mind prone to relegate each sensation to a 
definite shelf; he had his place actual and his place specula- 
tive to mark on that plot of ground lately invaded, and his 
course onward to select. 

He knew that he had been what is called a success, but he 
also knew that the term, as perfunctorily accepted, would 
not satisfy him. It was not the outer bulwarks of society 
he wanted to scale, save in so far as they were means to an 
end; it was the inner, palpitating heart, the movement of 
sensitive organizations, that he meant to dissect, as he had 
dissected the meaning of his father’s mysterious long-ago 
struggle with disease. 

He was not ungrateful, however, to nature for tricking 
him out neatly. He was perfectly aware that his slim form, 
trained to athletic exercise, pleased the general and often 
the particular eye — that his fair skin, burned to a healthy 
brown, was calculated to charm the lady of uncertain age 
but certain influence; he was aware that in spite of his 
extreme youth he could appeal, without excess of effort, 
to the immature schoolgirl and the woman with a past; 
and he did not forget to register a vote of thanks to his 
late traveling-companion, whose discreetly worded revela- 
tions concerning the prospects of his charge had certainly 
smoothed the way to distinction. 

And the spring came to this dark house as to its happier 
neighbors. The sun, slipping through an eastern window, 
flickered with incongruous gaiety over the vast and shadowy 
hall, revealing something rare in every corner. 

A large oak table stood in the center of it, laid for break- 
fast, and Glover, with his back to the light, trifled with a 


A Haunted House 


76 

Strip of toast, while his wife sat opposite, divided from him 
by at least four yards of damask. She, too, made a mere 
pretense of refreshing nature, but as she stirred her coffee 
she looked out into the sunshine with unusual invigoration 
in her dark eyes. 

Anthony was wont to time his arrival to coincide, as far 
as possible, with his father's departure, and on this particu- 
lar morning the study door closed upon Mr. Glover's invalid 
chair just as another opened to admit the young man into 
his mother's presence. 

Going to be fine," he announced, in the voice that so 
rarely showed any variety of accent, whatever the utterance. 

‘‘ Yes," she said, almost as indifferently as he had spoken; 

but the coffee is cold ; I'll ring for more." 

She touched a silver beast of antediluvian shape at her 
elbow, and the shrill summons brought a maid, capless and 
breathless, who took the coffee-pot away to be replenished. 
Gwendolen watched the girl's brusque movements with 
absent pertinacity. 

‘‘ Is she temporary or permanent, mother ? " 

‘‘ I can't tell you ; I can only draw deductions." 

‘‘ And where has Mary been deduced to ? She was tidy, 
at least." 

Last week she cleaned the ivories, Tony, with an inven- 
tion of her own — she pointed them out to me with consider- 
able pride. But two days ago I looked into their particular 
cabinet, and they were gone ; and when I rang for Mary, she 
had gone too — this girl answered the bell. I ask no^ ques- 
tions, and I am told no lies." 

The duties of a secretary," said her son calmly, ‘‘ would 
be difficult to define in this house." 

‘‘ I think Mr. Leighton likes the diversity of employment," 
she commented, without a trace of bitterness. 

‘‘ He even likes my father, if I'm not much mistaken." 

But the girl re-entering, the subject was allowed to drop. 

“ And now, what about the wedding, mother ? " 

She glanced out again, with an air of hesitation. 

No excuse whatever," he said, translating what he sup- 


A Haunted House 


77 

posed to be her thoughts. '' Wind's in the north, and nothing 
of it; the roads are perfect, and the horses in want of exer- 
cise." 

It's so long since I went anywhere." 

‘‘ Exactly ; high time you made a move ; besides, there's 
your new dress and your acceptance." 

''Yes," she said, still with uncertainty. 

" It was odd of them to ask us," he ventured, with a keen 
eye on her. 

" Odd to ask me to Alva Dane's wedding with Peter 
Southern? Why, I've known the Southerns for more than 
twenty years." 

" Not these Southerns," he said dryly; and her expression 
changed. 

" Well — no. I suppose the invitation was a civility from 
Mrs. Fawcett; she has always given me a yearly call ever 
since your father succeeded in getting her that Van Dyke 
at such a reasonable figure." 

" A call which you’ve as regularly returned," he said, and 
brought a slight access of color to her cheek. 

" Yes; I'm not a sociable person, Tony, but I'm interested 
in a few old friends, and at Mrs. Fawcett’s there's occasional 
talk of them. My particular Southerns are all dead and 
gone, but I should like to see their children. I think we’ll 

" I'm quite sure we will," he amended. " I’m interested 
too in the family, though I don’t know any of its members. 
Their names used to crop up in conversation abroad. 
There’s a Bertha, isn't there ? " 

" Yes, the last Lady Southern — the widow of Sir George." 

"And a Griselda; of all outlandish names." 

" She's the daughter ; what did they say of her ? " 

" That she failed to play champion to Bertha, whose 
eloquent resentment is much quoted in certain drawing- 
rooms." 

" Did they speak of the bride, Anthony? " 

" Yes. The women said she was too fair; the men grew 
pensive at her name: one could fancy them victimized to 


A Haunted House 


78 

some extent by that same excess of fairness. But it was 
Mrs. Fawcett who provoked the main shafts of our satire."’ 

She is the grandmother ; she was the mother of poor 
little Emmy.” 

I understood it was rich little Emmy,” he objected. 

Gwendolen shook her head. 

‘‘ Emmy was sold to George Dane and a prospective 
baronetcy, which in the end he never inherited. He was a 
dreadful man, always on somebody’s toes.” 

And did Emmy never rebel ? ” 

‘‘ No ; she had no spirit ; you had only to look at her to see 

that. Minnie used to say ” But here the speaker paused, 

as though conscious of having drifted across the line of dis- 
cretion. 

Who was Minnie, mother? and what did she say? ” 

As if you cared what a servant said years ago about an 
unhappy wife.” 

I assure you, I do care. If she’d been a happy wife I 
should have asked no questions.” 

‘‘ Well, Minnie was first a housemaid at The Court for 
years and years, then she married one of the gamekeepers 
and became a very unhappy wife herself. She lost her only 
child, mainly, I think, owing to the cruelty of her husband, 
and she became the foster-mother to Emmy’s little girl, for 
Emmy died when Alva was born. She was very delicate — 
the baby, I mean, and they let Minnie take her away into 
her own country air. There she grew strong and well — she 
owes her life, she owes everything to Minnie.” She finished 
with a flush of excitement rising once more to her cheek. 

“ I suppose she has been turned into a lady’s-maid,” he 
commented, watching her more eagerly than usual. 

‘‘No; she was nurse for a good many years, and then 
Mrs. Fawcett sent her away. People say she was jealous 
of the poor soul’s devotion to the child; anyway, she was 
sent back to The Court, where she lives now.” 

“ I met the bridegroom-elect in Paris,” Anthony observed ; 
and she turned to him, her air of reminiscence gone. 

“ Did he look the sort of a man to make her happy? ” 


A Haunted House 


79 

That depends on her taste. I gather that Emmy was 
meek and spiritless, George a boor : the daughter ought not 
to be mentally exacting. I think he might suit her well 
enough.” 

‘‘ What do you mean ? ” she asked sharply. 

“ That Southern looked like an ordinary good fellow, but 
the ordinary good fellow only appeals to a certain class of 
woman. If Alva is as primitively constructed as her stock 
suggests, it ought to be an excellent venture.” 

“ When you're older, Anthony, you won't rate mere com- 
plexity so highly.” But he only smiled, well pleased to have 
roused her, if only to disapproval of his cynical views. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE TYING OF KNOTS 

Gwendolen looked into the long mirror before which she 
stood. 

'‘Do you approve me, Tony?’’ 

He took a careful survey of the lilac silk, with its touch of 
violet velvet and its repetition of the delicate lace that embel- 
lished the bonnet. 

" I’ve .never seen you properly dressed before,” he said 
slowly ; " it makes a difference, a bigger difference than I 
could have imagined ; the rivals of twenty years ago will be 
bound to suffer.” 

She looked sharply at him, but decided to restrain the 
retort rising to her lip. 

The untidy maid announced the carriage, and ran for 
cushions and a footstool. Gwendolen paused with one foot 
on the step of the victoria, and uttered an exclamation of 
astonishment. Anthony looked from her face to the smart 
new livery of the groom beside her. 

" A good fit, eh ? ” he commented quietly ; and again curb- 
ing her desire to reply, she took her seat. 

" It was a surprise for you, mother. I sent for a tailor 
from town; those old drab liveries were a disgrace.” 

" It was very kind,” she began doubtfully, and he laughed. 

" I’m never kind, and you know it. I wanted to make a 
certain effect to-day. The bills will go to the governor ; he 
wants an occasional rousing. By-and-by I shall take the 
house servants in hand ; Leighton is getting a bit too enter- 
prising, and our menage a bit too haphazard.” 

He leaned back in his seat, and for nearly half an hour 
there was silence. But as they turned from the main road 

8o 


8i 


The Tying of Knots 

into narrow country lanes Gwendolen's expression began to 
acquire animation. The young man at her side watched 
her cautiously, but it was plain she had forgotten him; it 
was equally plain that the route they took roused in her 
ancient and pleasant memories. 

‘‘ Ah," she exclaimed suddenly, involuntarily, ‘‘ the little 
tower ! " And following the direction of her glance he 
found it, gray and ruined, against the clear blue of the 
horizon line. 

It's not many miles from The Court," he observed in 
the soft note of one who fears to disturb a vision. 

‘‘ They look so different at night," she went on, unsus- 
pecting, '' with the stars above and the mist creeping below, 
like a white snake, in and out of the woodland. I used to 

think, I used to wonder " But some instinct recalled 

her to the present and the cold eyes of the youth beside her. 
“ These are my nonsense moods, Tony ; they are old age 
touching an idle, rusty mind. Don't listen so acutely; my 
folly is really not worth the trap you set." 

“ I set no trap, mother ; but old age is always interesting : 
we like to look at a ruined tower or a ruined mind. Tell me 
about this one." 

You wouldn't understand. There are no ruined towers, 
there is no mist in your life; you see things clearly or you 
ignore them. It's wise, but — it limits our acquaintance." 

‘‘ Then if you won't talk of the past we'll discuss the 
present. How old is the young lady we go to settle ? " 

‘‘ Twenty-three, I think." 

'' Cairo saddled her with at least eight seasons. What a 
work of art it is to unravel a lady's age out of the state- 
ments of her friends, her lovers, and her rivals; not to 
complicate the case by adding her own acknowledgment ! " 

I'm glad they gave her time to think," said Gwendolen 
softly ; ‘‘ those children of eighteen who embark so gaily on 
marriage usually come to grief." 

And the Southerns are credited with excellent reputa- 
tions for domesticity," he added, watching the air of caution 
return to her face. 


82 


The Tying of Knots 

Are they?’’ she said simply. 

Yes ; they are all warranted to go at any pace set by the 
lady on the box-seat.” 

She laughed with a semblance of amusement. 

‘‘Was Bertha called a bully, as well as her supplanter? 
Well, maybe she was one, but fate bullied her more than 
ever she bullied George, I should say.” 

“ What induced him to marry her, mother ? ” 

“ Surely Cairo told you,” she replied, with unexpected 
levity. 

“ I’d rather have your verdict.” 

“ But I know nothing ; I can only guess, like everybody 
else. I went out of their lives before the question was even 
mooted.” 

“ I thought you stayed often at The Court.” 

“ Only two or three times, and never with Bertha Venner. 
In fact, I never saw Sir George after he came into the title. 
The old baronet was my host on each occasion. He died 
very suddenly, you know, and only a few months before 
George’s wedding.” 

“ Cairo says that he was so down in the mouth at the old 
man’s demise that Bertha and her mother had next to no 
trouble with him.” 

Again Gwendolen laughed. 

“ Did they speak of me? ” she inquired, after a time. 

“Not under any name I could recognize, mother; but 
they spoke of my grandfather.” 

“ What did they say of him ? ” 

“ That his luck at cards was — phenomenal.” 

“ Anything else ? ” 

“ That he taught Sir George — the elder — to play piquet.” 

“ Was that all?” 

“Yes; and it was this reticence, added to an air of wis- 
dom, that enlightened me as to his profession.” 

“ You are calling him a cheat? ” 

“ No ; that’s a term connected with detection. I call him a 
clever man ; he evaded the law, which is more than most of 
the ingenious do.” 


The Tying of Knots 83 

Again she controlled the impulse to argue, and looked 
away into the budding hedgerows, as if seeking a happier 
idea than the one he presented so indifferently. 

‘‘ So the gentlemen played cards ; and the ladies, mother — 
what did they play ? ’’ 

There were no ladies,” she answered patiently, except 
dear, plump Mrs. Meadows, and she made jam and pot- 
pourri.” 

‘‘ Dull for you, wasn’t it ? ” 

Oh no ; I was a child — at least the first time, and I 
found all sorts of playfellows in the beautiful house. There 
were puppies and ponies, and an old library for wet days, 
with an old librarian in charge of it, like an ogre in an en- 
chanted castle, only he was an amiable ogre ; and there were 
the two sons of the house, George and Henry, and they were 
very kind to me.” 

She regarded him now with complete serenity. 

You are going to see these people for yourself — their 
children, at least, — and that will be far more amusing for 
you than listening to my old and rusty impressions. Bertha 
and Mrs. Fawcett will be there to represent the past, and 
Alva, Peter, and Griselda to stand for the present. There 
is no doubt which you will find the most interesting.” 

I want the past,” he explained, as an illuminator of 
the present ; history and heredity count for a good deal.” 

‘‘ I don’t believe it, Anthony. Modern idea goes the other 
way, and I go with it. We are reconstructed every seven 
years, and it’s only the people we live with who infect our 
habits and ideas. It’s only the original Adam and Eve who 
crop up here, there, and everywhere. But it isn’t a day for 
argument ; and see, here are the four cross-roads with a car- 
riage on each of them. All the county is going to the 
wedding.” 

Anthony allowed himself to be drawn into trivial specula- 
tion concerning the identity of liveries and faces, for he was 
by no means indifferent to the attention he and his handsome 
mother might be expected to attract in this fashionable 
assembly. He found various members of his foreign ac- 


84 The Tying of Knots 

quaintance filling the aisle of the church, and he quickly 
became aware that Gwendolen’s appearance was augmenting 
his claim to distinction. From familiar and unfamiliar 
voices he caught whispers of approval and curiosity — in fact, 
the tall, white-haired lady in her lilac gown threatened to 
turn the tide of public interest away from the central figures 
of the occasion ; even the chief bridesmaid was caught star- 
ing at her when she should have been preparing to relieve 
the bride of her sheaf of lilies. But the important knot was 
tied without any more serious hitch than this. Alva Isabel 
Emmaline took Peter Wilbraham with graceful acquies- 
cence, and Peter Wilbraham took Alva Isabel Emmaline 
with scarcely concealed fervor. As the pair came down the 
aisle together, after the signing of the register, they struck, 
at all events, a fine note of color — she white and pink and 
gold, he dark and eager; her eyes for the ground, with just 
a hint of satisfaction and expectation emanating from the 
lowered lids; his for her alone. They drove away with 
more than the common accompaniment of cheers, and the 
crowd of fashionable and unfashionable well-wishers broke 
up; the first to make their way to Mrs. Fawcett’s reception, 
the second to invade the local railway station, or the route 
to it, to catch a last glimpse of the happy couple. 

Anthony found this reception dull. His old acquaintance 
seemed to him nothing more than a repetition of their 
original selves — a reprint badly executed. Not only were 
the same remarks made, but they were made in precisely 
the same manner, with the same air of boredom. In his 
late period of solitude he had amused himself by dissect- 
ing the possible and probable ingredients that go to the 
formation of these so-called social lights and leaders, and 
had reduced the sum to a very common denomination. 

After stifling a yawn or two, testing a nature or two, 
he contrived to make his way, not without difficulty, first to 
the half-deserted terrace immediately below the house, and 
then on to the wholly deserted rose-garden below it. It 
was too early for roses, but there was a wealth of young 
green out, and, from a wooden seat, he could look down 


[ The Tying of Knots 85 

to the orchard, where the blossom was pink, and the sea 
^behind a vivid and entrancing blue. 

Producing a cigarette, he proceeded to inhale its excellent 
flavor, while he mused in a self-satisfied but rather weary 
fashion over his own position in the midst of this trivial 
throng. He recalled the challenging glances of pretty 
women, the cordial or confidential hail of stiffly elegant 
young men or pompous old ones, and, curling his short up- 
per lip, smooth as that of a boy, he blew rings of smoke 
into the still air, and watched them fade into it. Thus, he 
decided, did the movements of these social forces form and 
fade, each a replica of the last, each void of any grain of 
matter competent to leave upon the atmosphere a per- 
manent impression ; for these men and women in their gala 
dress it was certain he had no use. But a rustle of silk 
skirts called him abruptly from his melancholy reverie, and 
he found the inattentive bridesmaid at his elbow. 

She gave him no time to dictate the terms of their inter- 
course. 

‘‘ You are the son of the beautiful mystery in lilac silk.’^ 

Is it an accusation ?. ’’ he said, rising and throwing away 
his cigarette. 

It’s a congratulation, of course, unless she’s only an 
effect.” 

“ You want the cause behind it — I’m tracking patiently, 
but I’ve not yet discovered it.” 

''You’re accusing me of impertinence,” Griselda said, as 
coolly as he himself had spoken ; " but I’ve been accused of 
that fault so often that it doesn’t worry me, and I’m sure 
that crowd ” — she waved her hand in the direction of the 
house — " is enough to drive anybody into indiscretion.” 

" Is it indiscreet to talk to me? ” 

" Well — it’s a breach of etiquette.” . 

" Then it will have to be explained, won’t it? ” 

She looked away towards the orchard and the sea, and a 
dimple appeared at the corner of her red mouth. 

" I think it explains itself, Mr. Glover ; it’s a provocative 
sort of day.” 


86 The Tying of Knots 

'‘If it provokes you into my neighborhood I can’t com- 
plain.” 

" There are days,” she added, still disregarding him, " on 
which one has to trespass.” 

" And I represent something forbidden ? ” 

She looked at him, but with rather a disparaging 
air. 

" I should have liked to phch my cap over a bigger wind- 
mill, but there wasn’t one in sight; and I overheard Mrs. 
Quinny quarreling about you — society quarreling, you know 
—with Lady Faversham, and I remembered we hadn’t been 
introduced, and — so — I came.” 

" I’m not much of a windmill ; still, I do move, if there’s 
wind enough.” 

For a moment she looked nervous, then she shook off the 
restricting emotion with a laugh, and seated herself on the 
wooden bench. 

" Sit down, Mr. Glover, and tell me if you went to see 
the presents.” 

"No; is there anything unusual amongst them?” he 
asked, taking the place she indicated so cordially. 

" There’s a black pearl,” she explained, with subdued 
excitement ; " it’s set in an old-fashioned ring, and it came 
without a name.” 

" That’s odd,” he allowed ; " we don’t send much these 
days without a card attached.” 

" And it has some writing inside. I borrowed the micro- 
scope mama and I sent together (twelve-and-sixpence — at a 
sale in Regent Street — but don’t tell), and I found ' Ne cede 
malis' ; something to do with misfortune, isn’t it? ” 

"'Do not yield to misfortune,’” he said, and laughed; 
" not very complimentary to the bridegroom, eh ? ” 

" It’s nothing to do with Peter ; it’s an old ring, with an 
old story hidden in it. Alva hasn’t had much spare time to 
speculate about it, but she will by-and-by. Marriage must 
be an awful nuisance,” she added meditatively. 

" Are you undertaking it this year ? ” he asked. 

"No; but, of course, I shall undertake it some day.” 


The Tying of Knots 87 

Of course/’ he echoed, and brought a first flush to her 
cheek. 

'' What has gossip been saying about me ? ” she inquired 
hotly. 

Nothing outrageous; only that you are the girl who 
should have been a boy.” 

‘‘ So you knew me all the time ; yes, Fm Griselda 
Southern, and you’re Anthony Glover — ^you see, I know 
your first name.” 

‘‘ It’s entirely at your service.” 

“ Thank you,” she retorted, without embarrassment. I 
always prefer first names; they save time and trouble, and 
we haven’t too much time, have we ? ” 

Not to-day, perhaps; but I recognize two kinds of op- 
portunities: the ones that are given us and the ones we 
take. I prefer the latter.” 

“ You mean you want to make further acquaintance with 
me,” she answered directly. ‘‘ I suppose the days are long 
and dull in that queer house of yours; I’ve ridden past it. 
You’ve a father, haven’t you ? not quite as good to look at as 
your mother.” 

He thought to trace the source of this malicious air, and 
he met it equably. He fancied that she came to him raw 
from some repulse to her impetuous nature ; there was rest- 
lessness — there was repressed passion in her. Handled 
cautiously, she might be counted on, he believed, to expose 
some of those very traits which the company above seemed 
to be void of. 

‘‘ The days are very long, and the house is very dull and 
queer; how queer you can hardly imagine, till you’ve been 
inside, Griselda. And my father — well — as you say, he is 
not quite so good to look at as my mother.” 

‘‘ Poor Anthony ! ” Her bright eyes softened. 

‘‘ You little know how poor,” he said in his softest tones ; 
‘‘ in touch with none, while you — ^you have only to put out 
your hand and turn an acquaintance into a friend — a friend 
into a lover.” 

‘‘ That may be true,” she answered with startling pas- 


88 


The Tying of Knots 

sion ; “ but what does the lover turn to the moment I take 
my hand away ? ’’ 

She looked at him, but it was plain she saw something 
less suave than his face, and with a thrill of exultation he 
realized that this chance shot had brought down the very 
quarry he had scented and so ardently desired. She was 
angry, outraged, young and reckless. It was not chance 
that had tempted her to invade his solitude ; it was pique, 
and pique may be turned to many uses by the man of level 
pulses. 

‘‘ I can’t think,” he said mendaciously. 

Then I’ll tell you; he turns into a judge — a school- 
master — into everything that’s unkind, unfair, detestable.” 

Must be a fool, or a blind man,” he commented. 

‘'No, you’re wrong; he isn’t either. But he lives by 
rule; he talks down too much, and from — oh, so far 
away ! ” 

“ There’s no ring,” said her companion, looking at the 
two bare hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

“ Oh, no ; he’s superior to common symbols.” 

“ Marriage without wooing,” he murmured softly, musi- 
cally, and saw her eyes fill with tears of self-pity. 

“ Such cold letters ! ” she explained, more to the sweet 
spring day, it seemed, than to him. “ I open them so 
eagerly; I could give so much, and — he doesn’t want it. 
He wants what I haven’t got — deportment and grammar 
and control. When I touched him he forgot to want these 
stupid things; but there it is, you see — I’ve the power to 
take and not to hold.” 

“ I think the gentleman deserves a more definite form of 
punishment than we are according him,” the young man 
ventured. “ Suppose we bring a flavor of audacity into the 
occasion by introducing a name.” 

She frowned suspiciously at him. 

“ It takes courage,” he added, “ to produce names.” 

“ Are you sure courage is the right word? ” 

He laughed at the rebuff. 

“ No; I’m only sure of one thing — my own ability to ac- 


1 

The Tying of Knots 89 

cept argument without a grain of prejudice. Never mind 
I the name — I don’t want it; tell me, instead, how long the 
gentleman remains at the end of his pen.” 

‘‘ I don’t know ; it may be only months and it may be 
years. There’s a brother with an incurable disease — 

oh! ” She stopped in dismay, but he smiled reassur- 

ingly. 

We’ve all got incurable diseases of a kind, physical or 
mental; don’t fancy I’ll locate him — I don’t want him lo- 
cated. Why are you so nervous? You’ve seen my home; 
you’ve recognized it for what it is — a haunt for ghosts and 
shadows. You’ve recognized me too for what I am, or 
your instinct wouldn’t have followed me. I’m no more 
than a man in fiction ; I’m safe ; I’m too egotistical to share 
any admissions you may make with anybody else. Why 
not let off steam by talking to me instead of risking the 
disapproval of more prejudiced persons?” 

That’s how it struck me,” she answered unsuspiciously ; 
'' it’s so plain that you’re not like the rest of us. A friend 
in fiction ! that’s what I wanted ; to be a princess in a fable, 
just for an hour; to be told that everything I did was 
right; to get away from criticism and calculation. Why, 
I’m better already! indeed, I think I’m well again; now I 
can go back — it must be time if I want to help Alva change 
her dress.” 

‘‘ But I haven’t read the story of the princess yet,” he 
objected. You’ve only opened the book; you must come 
again and read to me out of it. Are you staying at The 
Court ? ” 

‘‘ Only for the wedding. We go to town to-morrow. I 
might have stayed here, in your neighborhood, too, funnily 
enough, if I’d wanted to, with an old governess ; but she’s 
such a donkey — kind, you know, but silly, and so I 
refused.” 

‘‘ Where does this ancient donkey stable ? ” he asked. 

'‘Not two miles from your ghostly residence; think of 
the irony of it ! ” 

" I’ll think of nothing so unprofitable. You must retract 


90 


The Tying of Knots 

that refusal. Headache, temper, the sudden spell of warm 
weather — anything will serve.’’ 

‘‘ But you’re taking it for granted that I want — that I 
wish — that ” 

‘‘I’m taking nothing for granted,” he broke in; “that 
isn’t desirable. You want a friend, a particular sort of a 
friend. Do you ride?” 

“ Whenever I get the chance.” 

“ Capital ; I’ve a cob you’ll like. Plenty of spirit in him ; 
are you afraid ? ” 

“ Not of anything on four legs,” she answered, looking 
at him irresolutely. “ But there’ll be the owner of the 
horse, and — and all sorts of wheels within wheels, and — 
no ; that’s the right answer, the only answer — no.” 

“ I refuse to accept it,” he said, encouraged by something 
in her expression ; and, as though influenced by the vigor of 
this refusal, she began to temper the negative. 

“ It’s a pity — I should have liked the cob ; and the old 
lady wants me very badly : she lives in Lapwing Lane — the 
little, red bandbox of a house at the end farthest from you. 
Not that it matters, because I can’t come — I shan’t come.” 

“ But I can, and shall, Griselda. Every morning I shall 
bring the horses to the corner of that lane, on the off- 
chance that you may have changed your mind.” 

“ Have you got' a side-saddle ? ” 

“ A beauty.” 

“ Then how ridiculous the cavalcade will look.” But 
there was irresolution still beneath the layer of scorn. 

“ I don’t mind ridicule, Griselda.” 

“And I don’t mind a little incense to my vanity,” she 
flashed out, and fled up the steps and back to civilization 
and its demands upon her. 

He sat on for a while, then made a languid way back 
to the house in time to see the bride depart. He made no 
further effort to speak with Griselda, though he was con- 
scious of her eyes upon him more than once. 

It was to the bewilderment in which he hoped to have 
set her that he trusted. The vaguer, the colder his image. 


The Tying of Knots 91 

the more hope — so he argued — that her female curiosity 
would follow his late invitation. Plainly she had been left 
to the doubtful wisdom of her own immature nature; and 
the unknown played a dangerous game, when one took into 
consideration the age and temperament of the lady round 
whose finger he had forborne to set the circle of possession. 


CHAPTER IX 


GRISELDA LEAVES THE BEATEN TRACK 

It was the morning but one after Alva’s wedding, and 
Anthony rode a fine chestnut in the direction of Lapwing 
Lane. At his side ambled a gray cob, with a side-saddle, 
protesting prettily at the leading rein to which he had been 
attached. 

The young man enforced a walking-pace, partly because 
it gave him pleasure to tyrannize over the spirit of his im- 
patient pair, partly because he was early and had the cud 
of agreeable thoughts to chew. The topmost one was 
Griselda’s note of recantation received that morning, and 
its brief phrases lingered in his memory, linking themselves 
with certain other reminiscences, pushed, of late, consider- 
ably into the background of his mind. 

The day was sunny, even a degree warmer than the two 
preceding ones, and there was a perceptible increase of 
green in the hedgerows since he had driven with his mother. 
It was assuredly a day of relaxation, for mental license, and 
its spell induced him to submit to — at least, to be reminded 
of — the single magnet to which his boyish fancy had, long 
ago, succumbed. 

Gwendolen would, indeed, have been surprised had she 
guessed the tenor of his thoughts, had she guessed that he 
had once been almost as familiar as herself with the old 
house in which Griselda was born. He could have recalled 
— in fact he was at that same moment recalling — a long 
series of intrusions into it. There was a special window, 
dear from illegitimate use, through which, times out of 
number, be had climbed to adventure. He knew the Long 
Gallery by moonlight; he had scampered, with startled 

92 


Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 93 

mice, to shelter before the creaking advent of lawful 
guardians of the place. From behind long strips of dust- 
impregnated tapestry, whose sacred antiquity he had tam- 
pered with in order to provide himself with peep-holes, 
he had marked the scared faces of puzzled domestics, lured 
by some careless sound, and enjoyed their whisper concern- 
ing spectral visitors. His boyish demand for consequence 
had been pampered by many a triumph fascinatingly tat- 
tooed by danger, and detection had as often as not only been 
averted by the exercise of phenomenal powers of ingenuity. 
Once he had left a shoe as witness of his earthly quality; 
once he had twisted an ankle over the shrubbery wall, in a 
too hasty retreat before an investigating bull-dog, and, un- 
able to reach his secreted bicycle, had spent a damp and un- 
comfortable night under a hedge. 

But there was a memory to connect him more closely 
than these with the girl he was going to meet. More than 
once he had contrived to make his way on to the roof of the 
house. He had discovered, in a happy hour, the flight of 
steps cut by the Southern children in the wall, and he had 
mounted by them, his act of trespass concealed by the 
buttress cutting so opportunely that portion of it from the 
view of persons in the garden. Once, and once only, he 
had come across a fellow-adventurer, a girl sound asleep, 
with her head half buried in the hollow of her arm. All 
the same he had recognized her for the visitor who, but for 
her sex, would have played the mistress of the house. At 
her feet lay her neglected book of fairy-tales, and for a 
long time he stared down into her unconscious face. For 
a long time he forgot to note that the storm, which had 
been threatening all day, was imminent; only when the 
lightning began to wink at frequent intervals did his musing 
take a definite form. Suddenly it occurred to him that 
this child would make an excellent center-piece to the com- 
ing exhibition of natural passion. He began to long to 
see the terror flame into her passivity, and, with but little 
hesitation or delay, he made his plans. He found the door 
by which, apparently, she had come up, and locked it, 


94 Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 

putting the key into his pocket for future use. The storm 
should wake her. The storm should startle her into prov- 
ing or disproving the validity of that air of resolution 
he had thought to trace upon her half-hidden face. With 
infinite caution he climbed down to the garden, and made 
his way to a summer-house, from which the portion of the 
roof he meant to examine must be visible. He reached 
his place of observation and shelter exactly as the storm 
broke, and gazed eagerly up at the stage so carefully pre- 
pared. At her first movement up from the prone position 
in which he had left her, she was bound to come into view ; 
but, though he watched until the storm had passed com- 
pletely over, she made no such movement. She had 
worsted his curiosity once, and as he rode to meet her he 
registered a vow that she should not do so a second time. 
Ten o’clock was the hour appointed; but, though the clocks 
were striking it as he arrived, he and his horses were kept 
waiting a full fifteen minutes. At the end of that time 
the thick hedge, which entirely concealed the house, was 
pierced by a head in a riding-hat, and Griselda looked out 
at him apologetically. 

‘‘ I’ve had trouble with my old lady,” she explained ; ‘‘ it’s 
been a work of art giving her the slip. I persuaded her to 
alter the arrangement of her linen-cupboard, but she won’t 
stay there long when she discovers I’m not beside her. I 
daren’t use the gate in case she looks out of the window ; if 
she saw you she’d have hysterics to a certainty. Goodness 
knows how I’m to get back into the house unseen; but 
sufficient for the hour, etc. Come and put me up; that 
cob’s in a hurry.” 

Slipping easily into her seat, she atoned to the animal 
for his wait, and her escort had his work cut out to catch 
her up. They passed The Monk’s Revel at a canter, and, 
turning sharply from the main road, found themselves in a 
country lane, with a wide stretch of common running 
alongside. With the soft turf under his feet the cob began 
to lose his head, and his master, from a yard or two behind, 
called out a word of warning : 


Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 95 

‘‘ It's riddled with rabbit-holes ; get him into the roadway 
again.” 

Too late, he's out of hand,” his rider retorted with satis- 
faction. 

‘‘ You'll break your neck, Griselda.” 

‘‘ You mean, I'll break your horse's knees. I'm out for 
a holiday, and I refuse to remember risks; if this is de- 
struction we're racing for, I feel like the little boy facing 
the peril of unlimited jam tarts — I feel disposed to say: 
‘ Lor, what a jolly death! ' ” 

For answer he increased the pace of his chestnut, and, 
choosing the side farthest from the road, it became possible 
for the heavier horse to compel the other inwards, until 
both were established on reliable ground. 

‘‘ You're not a bit what I expected,” she said scornfully, 
when the cob had been reduced to comparative decorum. 

“ What did you expect, my pretty Griselda ? ” 

I didn't expect to be addressed like that.” 

Is it the Christian name you cavil at ? ” 

'‘Oh no. It's the adjective, and the pronoun in front 
of it.” 

" But you are pretty — ^you'd be mortally offended if I 
didn't think so; and as for the pronoun, it's equally true. 
You are mine for the moment; I've your face to look into, 
your mind to probe into. This early summer day, this span 
of country, seem to me an excellent stage ; our two minds — 
yours uncommonly bold, picturesque, and impulsive; mine 
uncommonly free from prejudice — seem to me a pair of 
actors to whom everything is possible. What shall we 
enact? farce, comedy, tragedy? Only, remember it's all a 
play; no real blood, no real tears, only the luxurious sem- 
blance of grief. But remember, also, that there are plays 
so perfectly portrayed, with such wealth of charm and 
enthusiasm, that the memory of them never stales; it vi- 
brates through a lifetime.” 

"That's just what I want, a fairy-tale; to charm away 
the cross thoughts in my heart ; but if the memory of it is 
to vibrate for a lifetime you'll have to exert yourself. All 


g6 Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 

the magic will have to come from you. Tm the most 
earth-bound creature ever made; I call to fairy princes in 
the night, sometimes, but it’s always for earthly pleasures. 
You’re certainly unprejudiced; that’s why I came to you, 
and — yes — I suppose I’m impulsive. When some one smites 
me on the cheek I always want to hit back.” 

'' It’s not the sort of cheek I should want to smite,” he 
said tentatively, and watched a fuller consciousness of her 
fancied wrongs inflame it. 

She had been prepared to love and learn the man that 
fortune sent; but not in a cold schoolroom, under chilling 
glances and more or less veiled contempt. In touch with 
her, Dorset had succumbed; on paper he took his revenge 
for what he obviously regarded as a species of weakness. 
It was not that he retracted or drew any lines of division — 
on the contrary, he accepted the seriousness of their bond; 
but he lectured, he insinuated good advice, and the sensitive 
girl, not at ease with her conscience, read into his letters a 
recoil from what she did not hesitate herself to call '' the 
Venner qualities.” She belonged, she told herself miser- 
ably, to an hour and an influence; he belonged to a care- 
fully trained personality, whose single lapse from sanity 
alone connected it with herself. 

She was in her teens ” and she must have an hour or 
two of self-expression. She must speak to some one, she 
must question some one; and this precocious youth, only a 
year or two her senior, promised to companion and en- 
lighten her desperation without interfering — so she fancied 
— with any of her deeper emotions. 

Shaking off her harsh memories, she smiled at him. 

‘‘ I shall forget the blow in half an hour, if you won’t 
touch it. I’m all ready to be pleased this morning — in fact, 
I must be pleased. I’m not sure there’s any need to talk, 
with so much to feel : the sun, the wind, the motion of this 
delightful horse. I’m not sure one doesn’t talk the beauty 
out of things.” 

Out of some things, yes ; but there are others whose 
beauty has to be talked into them.” 


Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 97 

‘‘ Not yet/’ she said with appeal ; wait till the charm 
fades a little.” 

For answer he pointed to the right with his whip. A 
quarter of a mile away the common dipped, and against the 
blue horizon-line Griselda could distinguish a group of 
figures. 

'' One hasn’t to wait long,” said he. 

The figures were advancing rapidly, probably with the 
hope of succor. A ragged man walked first, a yet more 
ragged woman followed him, and three small children, 
raggedest of all, loitered in the rear. Griselda pulled up 
as the man came within speaking distance, and he em- 
barked eagerly upon the customary formula. 

‘‘ Of course they’re hungry,” she said, in answer to it, 
‘‘ if you are always thirsty.” 

The fellow turned his drink-inflamed face away in anger 
or chagrin, and the woman interfered on his behalf. 

‘‘We can’t get no reg’lar work, miss; just odd jobs ’ere 
and there, tramping about after ’em, and a public-’ouse at 
each corner and ’is always feeling low.” 

Anthony put his hand in his pocket resignedly, but the 
woman spoke again, quickly and impressively. 

“ It isn’t money, miss, it’s work we want. It’s reg’lar 
work. ’E was never nothing but steady when ’e ’ad it, 
and maybe ’e will be again. Couldn’t you find ’im some? 
’E can tend flowers or ’orses or do odd jobs.” 

Griselda carried the question on to her companion, but 
he was slow to reply to it. 

“ Work isn’t easy to find for that sort.” 

“ But you’re a rich man, aren’t you ? ” she inquired 
softly. 

“ I’m the son of a rich man.” 

“ Isn’t it much the same thing ? ” 

“No; it’s an entirely different thing. My father objects 
to finding employment for me, chiefly on account of the 
expense entailed ; he won’t be disposed to find it for an idle 
vagabond.” 

“ Then you refuse ? ” 


98 Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 

'' Not if the matter is of real importance to you.” 

'' It is ; I want these people to have another chance, 
but ” She stopped in some bewilderment, and he ex- 

plained his mystic point. 

Then my father goes to the wall ; there are ways of 
preventing wealthy and parsimonious parents from damn- 
ing their immortal souls.” 

You mean that IVe asked you to do something rather 
difficult, Anthony ? ” 

Exactly ; but, as it happens, I should like the oppor- 
tunity of doing something difficult for you, Griselda.” 

'' It isn’t for me.” 

'' Oh yes, it is ; that must be distinctly understood. Am 
I to do it?” 

She turned her troubled eyes away, and looked out into 
the sunny stretch of country before her; then suddenly 
her smile returned, lawless and radiant, and, for a moment, 
disconcerting to his ingenuity. But he did not take long 
to follow the way of escape she had found. 

If you please,” she said boldly; and he understood that 
his lapse from taste had been turned to practical account. 
Plainly she saw herself absolved by it from the very obli- 
gation under which he had schemed to set her; but if she 
worsted him, she also pandered to his love of the exclusive, 
and he took with the rebuff the added value of the rebuffer, 
and proceeded to pay first costs without wincing. A quick 
mutually comprehending look was exchanged; then she 
moved forward, leaving him to deal with his new proteges. 
He gave names and addresses, pressed some silver into the 
woman’s hand, promised that the people to whom he sent 
her would supply^ work and wage, and pursued by the 
puzzled gratitude of the ragged party, he followed Griselda. 

'' I thought you liked the surface of things,” he 
said. 

“ So I do, but — I could find the sermon in the stone. I 
don’t want to go deep ; I want to play a little longer ; I’ve a 
right to — don’t you think so ? ” 

'' An indisputable right,” he answered warmly ; it’s 


Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 99 

my main quarrel with women that they are in too great a 
hurry to accept unnecessary responsibilities/’ 

''Your quarrel with women!” she mocked prettily; 
" why, you’re only a boy yourself — twenty-one — twenty- 
two at most.” 

" I’m an exotic, though ; I grew up in a forcing-house.” 

" Which reminds me,” she broke m hurriedly, " of my 
old question: why is your mother so different from all 
others ? ” 

" For ten years I’ve been trying to find out, but vainly.” 

"There’s your father, of course ” she began, and 

stopped in confusion. 

" What of him?” 

" He’s — well — he’s different too.” 

"You mean, he’s a deformity, Griselda?” 

" Well, he’s rather queer, isn’t he? ” 

" Don’t suppose I mind any correct statement of fact. 
Of course he’s deformed; and to some extent, I suppose, 
he accounts for that unusual expression on my mother’s 
face. Still, I fancy there’s deformity of one kind or an- 
other in most families.” 

" Not in ours,” she said rather proudly; and he laughed 
that soft, mocking laugh that had so little mirth in it. 

"You can’t be insinuating that there is?” she said 
angrily. 

" Insinuation is a waste of time. There’s your mother,” 
he said, pleased to have roused her into excitement again. 

"My mother! What are you saying? A deformity? 
Why, she’s beautiful — or she used to be — and everybody 
admires her, and she goes everywhere.” 

" Oh, you’re employing the word in its most restricted 
sense,” he explained easily ; " I’m using it in its widest. 
There’s a deformity of the mind that society doesn’t 
recognize, and I’m making something of an experiment 
in using it my way — that is, as a sort of dividing fence. 
You see. Lady Southern seems to me to stand outside a 
certain magic circle, in which, for longer than I could tell 
you, the Southern family have revolved — for me, at least. 


loo Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track 

with considerable attraction. Your name, Griselda, has 
always stood for something fine and apart — this strange 
mother of mine always speaks it on bated breath ; now you 
must forgive me if I elected to regard you as a member 
of this fairy stock, rather than the daughter of a good- 
looking woman of the world.’’ 

Wouldn’t it be disloyal to my mother to forgive you?” 
she said with hesitation. 

“ That depends entirely on the code of morals under 
which you choose to live.” 

‘‘ You have to be very strong to choose your own code,” 
she objected. 

‘‘ And aren’t you very strong ? ” 

‘‘No; only very curious. Just a bit too curious, I’m 
beginning to think.” 

“ We’ll reduce the pace, then,” he answered reassur- 
ingly; “we’ll talk of ‘shoes and ships and sealing-wax, 
and cabbages and kings ’ — there’s plenty to argue about 
even in a cabbage.” 

Without a trace of pique or disappointment he embarked 
upon desultory chat concerning the country through which 
they were passing. He could describe for her, not without 
picturesque color, the peculiarities of the land and the 
people who lived upon it; he could handle history, ancient 
and modern; he could even touch on superstition, and 
circle with a mysterious flame one or two of the white 
cottages, whose smoke rose from their tiny chimneys in 
innocent refutation of this link with the occult; — in sum, 
he offered the young pleasure-seeker the cup that cheers 
but just comes short of inebriating. More than once he 
led her to a suggestive or complex point, as though by in- 
advertence, and away again, as though in sudden recollec- 
tion of, and respect for, her conventional limit. 

At mid-day he called a halt, and pointed to the village at 
their feet. They were riding through a grove of pines on 
high land, and the horses were beginning to show signs of 
exhaustion; they had been ridden far, and at times fast. 
The air was crisp, the lady hungr}^. It was no difficult 


Griselda Leaves the Beaten Track loi 


'task to persuade her to dismount and rest under the trees, 
while Anthony took his animals down to the village below 
and ordered some sort of impromptu meal to be sent up 
for themselves. Griselda murmured a few remarks con- 
cerning the anxiety of her old ‘‘ caretaker,’' but it was 
plain they were not meant to rank as definite protests. 

She eluded Anthony's effort to help her dismount, and 
slipped to the ground. 

The soft bank, with its far view and its sheltering arch 
of pines, was very seductive, and she sat and watched the 
horses slither a way down the steep pathway with lan- 
guid enjoyment. 

When they disappeared from view she lay back and 
blinked up at the patches of blue sky visible between the 
branches. Clouds sailed across them in soft, swift motion, 
making for that unknown borne so magnetic to the imagi- 
nation of youth. Griselda sailed with them through aeons 
of space, through summer seas of argument, through masses 
of problem too gentle to do more than hint at the atrocity 
of an answer. 

Just when the world of fancy was beginning to pall, the 
young man reappeared, followed by a small boy and a big 
basket, which she roused herself to help unpack with an 
alacrity that denoted a healthy appetite. 


CHAPTER X 


TRESPASSERS ARE LIABLE TO BE PROSECUTED 

The young couple wasted no time in getting to work 
upon the food before them. While they ate and drank, con- 
versation was at a discount; and even when the pangs of 
hunger had been allayed, it was apparent that Anthony 
had no intention of hurrying his companion in any particu- 
lar mental direction. 

He allowed her to take the lead, and he laughed lightly 
but encouragingly at the childish sallies with which she 
elected to enliven the end of the meal. He was convinced 
that she would weary before long of her own levity and 
turn to him for the production of a more subtle relation- 
ship. He was equally convinced that there were un- 
developed tracts of rich country in this youthful nature; 
and, though he had no intention of becoming a responsible 
landowner, he had every hope of making her cater mate- 
rially to his amusement. When the basket had been re- 
packed, when the empty wine-bottle had been set at a fair 
distance and gradually shattered to fragments by all the 
small shot within reach, Griselda threw herself down on 
the luxurious couch of pine-needles and looked at her com- 
panion with precisely the expression he had fore-visioned. 

What are you going to do to amuse me ? 

‘‘ Shall I paint your picture ? 

“If you're quite, quite sure it won't be a very common 
one." 

“ Let's risk it, Griselda. I see you like some glowing 
point in a neutral landscape — a candle, we'll say; and 
though a candle's made of common wax, wax may be 
molded into any shape. You may be anything or nothing; 
you may burn or you may go out." 


102 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 103 

'' I must burn/’ she exclaimed ; you’re to suppose me 
in full flame. Now what do I reveal to you? ” 

‘‘ It’s all very dim and uncertain,” he replied ; I’ll have 
to come rather close if I’m to decipher the revelation. Ah, 
that’s better ! I begin to see — people and events, deeds of 
daring and deeds of folly. But nothing is definite : all the 
figures form and fade again ; now you’re growing, brighten- 
ing, expanding; you’re Eve, the mother of all — and now 
you’re nothing but a specter wrapped in mist — a virgin 
goddess, a pretty tradition, of no more value than the 
bubbles in a child’s clay pipe.” 

There was a blend of interest and distaste in her look 
up at him. 

And what did you hope to gain by persuading me to 
ride with you ? ” she managed to inquire with tolerable 
equanimity. ‘‘ The answer to the riddle ? ” 

‘^No; the riddle’s long, and only time can answer it. I 
believe, Griselda, that I was inspired by the sub-conscious 
hope that I should persuade you to fall in love — not with 
me, but with my divergence from the usual type.” 

She laughed with unmistakable relief and gaiety. 

‘‘ And shall I tell you what induced me to accept the in- 
vitation? I had the self-conscious hope that you would 
fall — not in love, of course, but fathoms deep in interest 
in me. It’s Greek meeting Greek! What a waste of 
faculty ! ” 

But why debar me from falling in love? ” he asked. 

‘‘ That’s a big question, Anthony. I can feel the answer, 
but don’t know that I can express it. Love is something 
that rushes into you, but the door must be open, and — 
I think — I think all the doors in your nature are shut and 
locked. You’re cold and yet you’re intelligent; you know 
all about the human emotions, but you go your way quite in- 
dependent of them. And now I’ve got the word I’ve been 
groping for — you’re disconnected; you can’t love or hate, 
or be frightened or happy ; you can talk of all these states, 
but you don’t belong to any of them. Oh, it’s horrible! 
you’re a dead man in a living body, and I’m afraid of you 


104 Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

and sorry for you. I feel there’s something wrong in talk- 
ing to you, but it fascinates me, like holding communion 
with — with ” 

'‘An evil spirit,” he finished; and she nodded, half in 
apology, half in defiance. 

Not ill-pleased to stand to her imagination as an intelli- 
gent bogey he saw fit to change the subject with brus- 
querie. 

“ Look over there,” he said, pointing far across the valley. 
“You can see the chimneys of your first home, if you’ve 
tolerable eyesight.” 

“ My old home ! ” She followed the direction of his 
pointing finger with an air of complete mystification. 

“ We’ve been riding inland, making a slow sweep round 
to the west; and if we suppose ourselves at the top of an 
irregular triangle, we’d have The Monk’s Revel for the 
middle and most eastern point of it. The Court for the 
bottom one. You can now reckon out roughly the distance 
between the two houses — a matter of eight miles or so.” 

“Yes, but you never came to The Court. Peter told 
me that.” 

“ Peter is wrong. I went often, but at unusual hours. 
Perhaps I ought to add that I was entertained, like the 
proverbial angel, unawares.” 

“You stole in at night! ” she gasped; “but what could 
you possibly want ? ” 

“ Not the tea-spoons,” he assured her, “ but there were 
plenty of other valuables which the law doesn’t recognize, 
to purloin. There was the joy of mastership, to begin 
with, Griselda.” 

“ The joy of pretended mastership, you mean.” 

“ Well, it’s all the same to a certain age and a certain 
temperament.” 

“ Oh, I wish I’d caught you, Anthony I I wish I’d 
made you feel uncomfortable and in the wrong, even though 
you were only a boy ! ” 

“Do you think you would have been able to? Remem- 
ber, if I was a small boy you were a still smaller girl, and 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 105 

I was disconnected, even in those days, from many of the 
common human sensations. But Tm not so sure we didn't 
meet. Did you ever stray on to the roof ? " 

‘‘ Sometimes.” 

And what did you see from it ? ” 

Let me think ! Acres and acres of country that ought 
to have been mine; cows and sheep and horses that ought 
to have been mine too — the roof was rather irritating some- 
times, but not always. Sometimes I saw the things that 
nobody takes away: the sunlight and the blue sky and the 
birds — the wild ones that sing so deliciously. There were 
days all green and gold, and misty days, and dark blue 
days, and sometimes a black day, when the sky seemed to 
be closing in on me. I remember one in particular: there 
was thunder, and there were flashes of lightning, and rain 
coming down in bucketfuls.” 

I She stared past him, her eyes riveted on that storm of 
" long ago. 

‘‘You were frightened?” he asked, almost with eager- 
’ ness. 

ji But she shook her head. 

I “ Of course not. It was glorious ; and I stood in the 
[ very middle of the glory, or rather I lay in the middle of it, 
'1 for the storm-god woke me out of my sleep, and at first I 
thought I was in the palace of the genii out of the Arabian 
JI Nights, which I had just been reading about. But presently 
‘ I understood where I was, and lay as still as a mouse (it 
was a very wet mouse in the end) and looked at the won- 
derful panorama. At first it was beautiful, more beauti- 
I ful than anything I had ever seen, but by degrees the beauty 
turned to horror. I saw the oak-tree in the round field 
struck clean in two, after a hundred years of service ; I saw 
the terrified horses scamper from one end of their meadow 
to the other, neighing their terror and their sense of help- 
lessness; there was magic in the air, but it was cruel 
magic.” 

“You were frightened,” he said again; but again she 
contradicted him. 


io6 Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

‘‘ Not for myself ; there was nothing to be frightened of.” 

‘‘ But the roof was exposed ; why should not the elements 
choose you for a victim ? ” 

‘‘ They couldn’t. You see, the lightning conductor was 
at the other end of the roof ; and if the storm-god came 
near enough to be dangerous, he would be forced to run 
down it and away into the earth. I had learnt that much 
in my schoolroom.” 

Ah, then all my ingenuity was wasted.” 

But what could your ingenuity have to do with my 
storm, Anthony?” 

I can’t pretend to have invoked the storm, but I chose 
your position in regard to it.” 

But that’s impossible. I went up of my own free will, 
with my book of fairy-tales, and I went to sleep; I never 
even saw you.” 

Well, you chose the position yourself, but I fastened 
you to it, as Andromeda was fastened to her rock; only, 
unfortunately for my scheme of vengeance, you fell in love 
with the monster.” 

‘‘Your scheme of vengeance!” she echoed in utter be- 
wilderment. 

“ You were trespassing, Griselda, on my preserves. 
You had to be punished. Moreover, you looked very pic- 
turesque, curled up like a kitten among the chimneys. I 
wanted you for a center-piece to my picture ; so I locked 
the door by which, obviously, you had come up, and I de- 
parted to enjoy the coming exhibition from a point of 
vantage with which I was familiar. But you outwitted 
me. Had you moved ever so little I must have seen you; 
but you lay still. Now, how in the world did you get 
down ? ” 

“You locked me up there!” she answered fearfully; 
“ you waited for the sight of my terror — the terror of such 
a little girl. How did I come down? By the steps in the 
wall, of course ; they were cut years ago by my father and 
my uncle.” 

It was his turn to show some agitation. 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 107 

‘‘The steps in the wall — those clumsy steps, slippery, 
too, after the deluge! Griselda, it was madness.” 

“ It was less awful than what you did,” she retorted. 
“ It frightens me to think a boy could be so wicked and so 
pitiless; it frightens me that such a boy should grow into a 
man and come near me again.” 

Shuddering, she looked away from his pleasant, passive 
face, out into the green land below, and he smiled to him- 
self. 

He had decided by this time that it was useless to appeal 
to her gentler fancies ; these had been appropriated, he felt 
convinced, by the man she would not name — the man who 
roused in her the restless spirit of rebellion. It was only 
to her curiosity he could trust for intercourse. This was 
disappointing; but what vanity lost, intellect gained: she 
was twice as instructive in her defiance as she would have 
been in amicable surrender. 

“ IVe shocked you by my candor,” he said softly, “ and 
the other man has irritated you by his affectations. Now 
why rebel at these temperamental barriers to free inter- 
course? Why not climb boldly on to them, and enjoy the 
view from the top? Directly you admit an eccentricity in 
somebody else, you capture an outpost of more or less value. 
Suppose we leave the personal side of the question for a 
bit.” 

“ I can’t,” she answered weakly ; “ I can only think of 
you standing over me in my sleep, planning to torment me.” 

He chose to affect a polite disdain for this profitless atti- 
tude of mind. 

“ Shall I tell you that years of remorse followed the 
incident ? ” 

“No; because I couldn’t believe you. I shall always 
have to think of you as a beast.” 

“ But an instructive beast,” he reminded her. “ A beast 
to whom you can tell your wrongs as you would tell them 
to the storm-god, as you call him.” 

“ What makes you suppose that I have wrongs ? ” she 
asked. 


io8 Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

'' Nobody comes to talk to me who is perfectly satisfied 
with the conditions of their life.’’ 

‘‘ Oh, poor Anthony ! ’’ she said, with a sudden drop to 
pity ; nobody to play with, nobody to talk to, but the sour 
and the unhappy/’ 

The price of disconnection,” he answered lightly. '' I 
don’t grudge it; but why do you always wince at every 
crude statement of fact? Why do you flutter so dis- 
tractedly between the desire to talk to me and the desire to 
repulse me ? ” 

'' I’ve told you already. I want your secrets, your knowl- 
edge of life and people, but I don’t want you.” 

‘‘ Am I to be silent, then ? Speak the word, and I’ll 
turn over and take an after-luncheon nap.” 

‘‘ I ought to say ' yes,’ and I can’t,” she whispered, still 
watching him with that air of anxious fascination. ‘‘ I 
know so little and you know so much.” 

“ Suppose you trust my discretion, then ? ” 

I’m afraid I’m going to ; I’m afraid I must.” 

Anthony decided to make his point in a roundabout 
fashion. 

You shall tell me nothing with reluctance. I’ll talk, 
and you shall listen. It’s my party, and it’s my duty to 
amuse you.” 

Oh,” she exclaimed with relief, that’s nice of you ! 
Show me another picture — not my own, this time ; I’m tired 
of myself. A foreign picture, big enough and beautiful 
enough to fill this frame.” 

She indicated with her hand the wood in which they lay, 
and the arch overhead; then she pressed a handful of the 
pine-needles to her face, inhaling their pungent scent with 
delicate appreciation. 

It’s rather a vast frame, Griselda.” 

That’s why I give it you,” she said flatteringly. 

There are so many images with which I could fill it. I 
wonder — I wonder which of them would please you best? 
They must be beautiful and happy, I suppose? ” 

'' And good,” she added, on a breath of anxiety. 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 109 

'' But what is goodness, Griselda?’' 

'' Oh, I don't know. I wish — I just wish we were a pair 
of clouds sailing across that strip of blue sky; then I might 
go with you wherever you pleased." 

“ But we shouldn’t feel," he objected languidly, and all 
the glory of liberty would be wasted." 

So it would. A pair of squirrels, then " — she brought 
her glance to earth again, but not to him. They have 
sensation without speculation; the only good and bad to 
worry their minds lies in the virtue of a nut." 

‘‘ Ah, but if speculation shadows the bright day, you 
mustn’t forget that it serves to illumine the gray one. 
Would you really choose to be mindless?" 

No," she said with resolution; ''I’ll be brave. Show 
me your picture." 

" In a minute," he said, with an unusual degree of ani- 
mation. " There are quite a number in my memory, with 
their faces to the wall: which shall I turn? The Venetian 
night ? — no — too much water and too little motion ; an Eng- 
lish cornfield? — ^too near home; Norman peasant life? 
Egyptian sphinxes? — all too placid. But what’s this? A 
dancing-girl — Italian — almost as vivid as when I saw her 
last — she’ll do ; you can but hiss her from the stage if she 
doesn’t dance to your liking. We draw a circle round her 
— thus; we call it a magic circle, because the word is like 
the striking up of an orchestra: it sets our minds in tune 
with the tale to come. She moves so fast that we see 
nothing of her features; she flashes such a sudden wealth 
of color that we catch no single one — we secure no more 
than an intoxicating effect. She’s blue, and red, and 
gold ; she’s brown and pink ; her sash, her hair, her twink- 
ling feet, her jaunty cap make half a thousand assertions 
to the minute ; she is all wires and malice, all fun and fury ; 
she has a myriad aspects, and each is a harmony. We 
dance with her, willy-nilly, and all the prosaic everyday 
ideas fly into the limbo for forgotten feelings. She rages 
with royal exuberance and mystic evasion of any hint of 
real passion ; and, when the flurry reaches, not the moment 


no Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

of satiety, mind you, but the one preceding it, there comes 
a pause, sacred to astonishment. The flying force of the 
past moment stands immovable; even her features, visible 
at last in all their dainty graciousness of aspect, have con- 
trived to banish every trace of emotion. Nervous seconds 
pass — a dozen of them ; then the orchestra breaks out again, 
softly, fitfully, into the next variation of the theme. Slowly 
the dancer’s face begins to accept expression. Slowly it 
begins the translation of those mysterious, musical phrases 
throbbing monotonously upon the silence. The meaning 
flickers across the lowered lashes, flickers and goes out, to 
reappear, a moment later, at the corner of her mouth; it 
flits from one feature to another, goes out again, leaving 
her the statue that life has invaded and deserted, but will, 
presently, inevitably invade again. The music speaks 
volubly now, and the phrases have a distinct, a subtle story 
to betray ; like matches they flame up and die down, always 
about the lovely stillness of that face, until one, happier 
or bolder than the rest, lights on inflammable stuff, and the 
sacred fire is burning — here, there, everywhere. The white 
arms rise above the head, and the curves of chin and throat 
are revealed; there is a sparkle of gay skirts, and our 
dancing-girl is once more in motion, but it is new motion 
and no echo of the last. This is the tale of suppression, 
this is the sleeping strength of the forest-tamer ; the languor 
is untouched by any suggestion of weariness or incapacity — 
it is the deliberate exposition of passivity. And to the 
weird call of it each human weakness throbs an answer: 
for the evil mind there is evil thought, artistically dressed 
to enable it to pass the stern guardians of our morals ; for 
the innocent there is the strain of music we heard long 
ago in the foolish days of childhood; for the ascetic there 
is that strange assertion of restraint, of purpose held in a 
leash; and for the critic, pure and simple, there is techni- 
cal perfection. The girl is an adept in her art: her short 
curls dance with her, the light turns them to gold or brown 
as it turns warmth or pallor into her beautiful face ; she is 
a slave and a sorceress, a spirit and a woman. She is no 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 1 1 1 

more mine than is the heaven above, but she gives to me 
and all who consent to watch her the only tangible answer 
to those myriads of questions that connect us with the 
elusive powers of our universe. Touching her, 'with a more 
or less daring finger, one finds oneself in contact with a 
stream of electricity; one lets go, and the common round 
has a very common look. One tries to analyze, to dis- 
criminate; one calls the faces of one’s womankind by 
varied names : sisters, wives, sweethearts — ^but apprecia- 
tion of these distinctions has been seduced; the line has 
been drawn differently.” 

“ You don’t leave much room for religion,” she said; but 
her accent was not quite as antagonistic as her words. 

I leave the religion of universal tolerance and it travels 
lightly. What’s prejudice, I ask you, but a heavy box on a 
traveler’s back ? ” 

With an effort she turned from him and lay back, locking 
her arms behind her wind-loosened hair, looking up at the 
patch of blue sky visible between the branches of the pines. 

‘‘ I think religion is learning to do without things,” she 
said steadily ; ‘‘ it’s learning to give them up to others, even 
though others don’t seem any more deserving than our- 
selves.” 

And the person one endows ? ” he said quietly. “ Don’t 
you give with one hand and take away with the other? 
Don’t you, according to Bible philosophy, strip him men- 
tally when you clothe him bodily? Don’t you take the 
‘ better part ’ yourself by inverse calculation? ” 

“ There are people, Anthony Glover, who have got left 
behind,” she explained laboriously, ‘‘ either by bad luck or 
bad management; they haven’t anything to give until we 
take pity on them and endow them; then by slow degrees 
the pressure comes on to them too, and .they learn to denude 
themselves for others still weaker and smaller. At least, 
that’s the only way I can handle religion.” 

“ It’s a very praiseworthy way,” he allowed amiably, 
‘‘ but a trifle slow ; it does very well for the mentally re- 
stricted.” 


1 12 Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

She flushed a little and brought her eyes back to his calm 
face. 

“ Don't you understand that I'm being cautious, not 
stupid ? " 

‘‘But caution indicates the presence of danger; what 
are you afraid of ? " 

“ I don't know," she answered, with a collapse into her 
old attitude of nervous curiosity. 

“ Of anything that's vital, it seems to me, Griselda. Now 
I couldn't take you into danger however much I wanted 
to, because there's no bond of sentimental sympathy be- 
tween us. I can only take you into a little sincerity of 
argument. Won't you come? It's a land the law doesn't 
tamper with ; a gentle inclination lets you in or out. Do you 
suppose there is nothing we discontented people can't teach 
you impulsive, optimistic ones? Do you suppose there 
is nothing to hunt in this world but a suitable husband? 
Can't you trust me to consider your weaknesses as well as 
your strength ? " 

“ There are a thousand things I want to know," she said 
quickly, “ if you'd promise to be careful ; only — only all 
the most interesting ones are round a particular point, and 
that's the very point my instinct tells me not to approach 
with you." 

“ Love," he said easily. ‘‘ But love is not a point, it is an 
overflow. I should dearly like to teach you the art of breath- 
ing under water, but I'm afraid it's one we can only teach 
ourselves. You see, you don't want to breathe : you want to 
go down into the suffocating sweetness ; you want the death 
that feels like sleep; you want me to stand by and watch 
you follow the disastrous way of the herd, but I can't do it. 
For you there's arbitration ; there's the stuff in you that 
need not — that ought not — to succumb. Keep that invisible 
ring of yours; it has its uses and its pleasure, but wear it 
with a reservation none but the similarly enlightened can 
possibly suspect." 

“ I don't know what you mean. What could I keep 
back?" 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 113 

What ril explain to you by degrees, Griselda, if only 
you won’t be quite so childishly suspicious — if you’ll ride 
with me again to-morrow, and the next day, and the next. 
I can tell you much that your prejudiced friends have kept 
to themselves. Surely you’re not a coward ? ” 

‘‘ No,” she said, retreating before his nearer approach, 
I’m not a coward, and it can’t be wrong to learn oneself 
and other people a little. I’m so ignorant that I get 
hurt by looks I don’t understand and words that sound 
strange and cold. How can it be wrong to learn the 
truth ? ” 

‘‘ How indeed ? And you mustn’t fancy that this knowl- 
edge makes any great difference in your life; you can still 
take the way that’s profitable — only, you take it with your 
eyes open.” 

‘‘ I want to understand the minds of people who care very 
much for the conventions,” she said; and he concealed his 
chagrin at this unconscious tribute to his rival. 

‘‘ Oh, they’re the A B C of the study. You can learn 
the length and the breadth of them in an hour. There’s 
scarcely time to-day, perhaps — the horses will be here 
directly — and it’s a study that mustn’t be interrupted; but 
there’s to-morrow.” 

Again she winced before the access of eagerness in the 
face so close to her own. 

To-morrow? — I’m not quite sure.” 

‘‘ Oh yes, you are. Give me the promise, and I’ll set the 
seal.” 

But the chance phrase, the audacious movement for- 
ward, broke the spell that held her; with his loss of entire 
serenity he lost his peculiar influence. The closeness of 
her face, the intensity of it, proved a little too strong even 
for his steady pulses. He had overshot his mark, for he 
had brought back to her memory another form of the im- 
pulsive feeling he had so unexpectedly betrayed. She had 
seen the stable-yard on a shadowy winter afternoon ; 
she had heard again the click of the bit in the mouth 
of a tired horse; she had felt again that odd leap in 


1 14 Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 

her breast as she sat looking down into the dark 
face below, and she understood, in the moment left to 
her for the protection of her honor, that an immeasurable 
gulf lay between the emotions on which these two men 
played. The first had approached her honestly if roughly, 
generously if patronizingly; such hands, such faces one 
could meet without injuring the essence of which tempera- 
ment was composed. Like lightning these saving thoughts 
flew to the defense of the situation, and as swiftly her 
hands flew to her face, just in time to receive that detest- 
able seal on the back of one of them. Quick as she had 
been to repulse, he was little less quick in his acceptance 
of the rebuff. 

You’re perfectly right, Griselda. Such seals are ri- 
diculous ; in theory I discarded them long ago, but habit dies 
hard.” 

She tried to find an answer, but to his inward satisfac- 
tion there came to their ears the sound of approaching 
footsteps. The horses were coming up from below, and 
Anthony moved away to look down towards them, aware 
that her first utterance would probably be dangerous to his 
project. 

She scrambled to her feet and picked her hat and whip 
from the ground. There was repressed passion in every 
slight movement, and it sought an outlet. 

The chestnut was showing temper as he scrambled up 
the steep incline, and his master went a little way to meet 
him and relieve the groom in charge. Griselda looked 
sharply at the fellow as he approached. 

'' ril mount there,” she said with rare ungraciousness, 
and pointed to the stump of a felled tree. 

The hostler was capable of recognizing and resenting her 
accent; he was hot and exhausted after his climb and his 
wrestle with the vagaries of the two lively animals. He 
moved the cob into position, however, though he failed to 
keep it there; and after one or two ineffectual efforts to 
mount, Griselda ordered him to make her a stirrup. But 
here again he proved himself clumsy or unfortunate, and 


Trespassers Liable to be Prosecuted 115 

I she used an expression or two that might apply either to 
the man or the beast and were certainly far from flattering. 

Losing the remnant of his patience, he took sudden and 
quite unexpected advantage of the relative positions of his 
two tormentors, and, slipping a grimy pair of hands round 
the girl’s waist, he lifted her by sheer force into the saddle. 

For an instant astonishment held her mute and immov- 
able, the horse likewise; the hostler, mollified by the suc- 
cess of his venture, lifted a grinning face ; but his satisfac- 
tion was of short duration. Griselda raised her riding- 
whip and brought it down with an all too accurate aim ; for 
an instant the two faces glared their mutual hatred, then 
the cob was off, and the man put up his hand to find a thin 
line of blood breaking the skin nearly the length of his 
right cheek. It was Glover who caught the full force of 
his expression, and with a low whistle, half of dismay, half 
of amusement, he put his hand into his pocket. But the 
injured groom would accept neither his money nor the 
consoling platitudes he produced on the idiosyncrasies of 
the other sex; he even refused the tip due to him for his 
services. 

‘‘ I’ll get even with the she-devil if it takes a lifetime,” he 
muttered, and the young man was obliged to leave him to 
his vows of vengeance and follow the instigator of them. 

He quickly became aware that the incident had served 
to carry the fire of her defiance from himself ; but her 
mood, though friendly and flippant, was by no means easy 
to attach to his own purposes. He could Extract no 
promise of companionship for the following day. 

He was at liberty,” she assured him gaily, ‘‘ to bring his 
horses to the corner of her lane or any other lane on the 
off-chance of finding a friend ; ” but the mood of the mor- 
row was as yet as profound a mystery to herself as to him. 
She wished him farewell with all the honors of victory in 
her demeanor, but he was disposed to think these flags a 
trifle too ostentatiously exposed to be quite convincing. 
On the whole, he fancied the morrow would give him agree- 
able occupation. 


CHAPTER XI 


ON THE ADVISABILITY OF DESTROYING ONE"s COR- 
RESPONDENCE 

‘‘ If only people would have the common-sense to put 
their letters in the fire directly theyVe read them, it would 
save the world a vast amount of trouble. I almost believe 
you dropped it on purpose.’’ 

Anthony laughed. His dismay was certainly tempered 
by the knowledge that the second repulse he had been 
offered was going to prove more unpleasant for the lady 
than for himself. 

He recalled his annoyance of that morning when he and 
his horses had spent a wearisome half-hour perambulating 
the road in front of the red pill-box, and without the satis- 
faction of ultimate triumph this time. The afternoon post 
had brought him a letter — a letter both disappointing and 
entertaininf ; for it was possible to cull from it more than a 
refusal to ride with him. He could so easily recreate the 
moon of the night before, to whose influence the effusion 
undoubtedly owed its being. He could as easily recreate 
Griselda’s enjoyment of her unnecessarily vigorous repudia- 
tion of himself. A truly ludicrous air of exaggeration 
inflamed the assertions of remorse, the determination to 
desist; and an ignorant peruser of the epistle would have 
been prone to read into it a confession of doubtful, if not 
criminal, amusement. It was impossible not to smile, in- 
wardly at least; for this same letter, by the edict of fate, 
or by virtue of that long arm of the law we call coinci- 
dence, had slipped from the gaping pocket of his shooting- 
coat an hour or so before, as he strolled in the direction 
of Griselda’s retreat, hoping to encounter her in a more 
amenable mood. 

ii6 


Advisability of Destroying Correspondence 1 17 

Discovering his loss, and failing to make it good, he had 
deemed it expedient to acquaint her with the fact, and she 
sat opposite him on the red rep sofa with an even greater 
air of distress than he had anticipated. The old lady was 
enjoying her afternoon nap, and there was no one to inter- 
fere with the examination of the culprit. 

Tell me again just where you missed it.’^ 

Patiently he re-embarked upon the tale. 

‘‘ About twenty yards from your gate ; I turned back at 
once and hunted everywhere, but without success. I didn't 
meet a soul until I came within sight of The Monk's Revel, 
and there I found our acquaintance of yesterday; he was 
lighting a pipe at the side of the road, with his bicycle in 
the hedge beside." 

‘‘You don't think he got off because he saw it?" she 
asked wistfully. 

“ The chances are very much against such an idea." 

“ There was a high wind," she said in the same tone ; 
“ the letter would be almost certain to blow eastward into 
the fields. That's the way the smoke is going." 

“ Of course, there would be the chance of an obstruc- 
tion," he said ; “ it might stick in the hedge ; but I shouldn't 
worry. Even supposing the fellow found it, even suppos- 
ing he could read it, even supposing he could recognize us 
under the names in it, I don't see how he could deduce any 
sort of information, damaging or otherwise, out of it. It 
wasn't written in the language in which any hostler would 
be versed." 

“ I wish you'd speak a little more confidently," she com- 
plained. “ You say all the right things, all the consoling 
things, and yet — and yet — ^you manage to leave me with the 
uncomfortable impression that there might be trouble. The 
man was very angry still ? " 

“ It was rather a sharp blow ; disfiguring as well as pain- 
ful. You can't expect him to forget quite so soon." 

“ You offered him money again and he refused it? " 

“This is the third time of asking, Griselda; I've a good 
mind to provide a new answer." 


ii 8 Advisability of Destroying Correspondence 

I know Fm fussy, but it was such a silly letter. I 
can’t think what induced me to write it. Midnight oil, I 
suppose, or that moon I could just see behind the blind. 
If I’d only read it over in the morning I should have torn 
it up, but the girl saw it lying, stamped, upon my dressing- 
table, and took it down to give the postman, before I was 
properly awake. Some of the phrases are coming back to 
me, and they are too ridiculous. It was as if I confessed 
to a sail near the wind, and all the time we never moved 
more than an inch from the shore — now did we ? ” 

'' No, worse luck ! ” 

‘‘ I was cross and curious ; I wanted to learn a little — 
just a very little of what goes to the making of a man. 
You looked so cool and quiet, I thought you could tell me, 
just as a lesson-book or a fussy old professor would have 
told me. I thought you needn’t count, but you came nearer 
than I meant — you startled me — ^you set all my feelings in 
a whirl. They wouldn’t be calmed down until the day- 
light came, and then — the fatal letter had gone. And you’re 
not sorry to have lost it. You’re what I called you yester- 
day, disconnected; you’re a man under a ban, and your 
only amusement is to try and draw others under it. You 
were a cruel and unhappy boy, now you are a cruel and un- 
happy man. I must forget you.” 

“ You may forget, but will the other man forgive, sup- 
posing that fantastic tale of renunciation and regret comes 
into his hands ? Oh, it’s improbable, I grant you ; it’s next 
door to impossible; but — such things do happen. Truth 
is stranger than fiction, once in a blue moon, and it was a 
seductive blue moon that led you into temptation last 
night.” 

But you know as well as I do that there’s nothing to 
forgive.” 

“ Of course ; but my knowledge won’t help you. I’m 
the one and only person whose evidence may not count in 
a court of law. Don’t you see, my dear girl, you could 
have made as many mountains out of molehills as you 
pleased, if only you’d refrained from putting them into 


Advisability of Destroying Correspondence 1 1 9 

black and white, with your seal and superscription at the 
bottom ? ’’ 

She looked at him narrowly, a tinge of color coming 
back to her white cheek. 

"‘Yes, I see that, but I also see that you’re trying to 
frighten me. It’s the only amusement you can get out of 
me now. You left me to the cruelty of that storm when I 
was a child ; you want to leave me to the cruelty of another 
sort of storm ; you want to see me cry and struggle. But I 
didn’t show the white feather then, and I’m not going to 
show it now, not until there’s a real need to, anyway. Now 
you can go away and save me the bother of explaining you 
to my old lady. She’ll be here in a minute or two, and she’s 
deaf and talkative, and is just starting a bad cold in her 
head.” 

He rose, accepting this summary dismissal without pro- 
test. 

He recognized the truth in one of her assertions; there 
was no more to be got out of her. Habit induced him to 
alter his expression at the last. He took the hand she 
offered carelessly, and pressed it between his own. 

“ Why so much animosity, Griselda ? I come and go at 
the word of command. I exercise what functions I possess. 
I’m no humbug, and if I’m disconnected from the common 
source, you can hardly suppose it’s from choice.” 

She was quick to recognize and answer this appeal. 

“ No. I’m sorry for you, or I would be if only I wasn’t 
so busy being sorry for myself. I’ve got an uncomfortable 
impression that every crime, even a tiny thought-crime, 
gets punished one way or another; I wasn’t very wicked, 
yesterday, but I wasn’t perfectly loyal. Though I don’t 
believe that letter will turn up and make trouble, I believe 
the thought of it flying in the wind for anybody to pick up 
and misconstrue will give me bad dreams for a long time. 
It’s such a suitable punishment; it’s so vague and difficult 
to define. Good-by, Anthony Glover. I can’t see you any 
more. You’ve hurt me, but not dangerously; I’ve got 
away, and you must hunt elsewhere to-morrow. If I were 


120 Advisability of Destroying Correspondence 

you rd go to Italy; the dancing-girl will charm away the 
memory of my limit. She was very pretty, but some day 
the sacred fire will refuse to burn; the matches will fizzle 
and go out, your sorceress will scowl or cry like any de- 
tected fraud. Go back and wait for the day of disillusion.” 

I never go back, Griselda. The fish in the sea are 
every bit as good as those that came out of it, and there 
are a great many more of them. My dancing-girl may 
burst like a South Sea bubble if she or the fates will, but I 
shan’t be there to see. Good-by, since you will have an 
end.” 

‘‘ If the letter is found, if it comes back to you, you’ll 
let me know,” she said; and he turned in the doorway to 
enjoy a last look at the mark of anxiety he thought to have 
stamped on her youthful face. 

To be sure — if it comes back, Griselda.” : 






CHAPTER XII 


A CASTLE IN THE AIR 

It was June when Alva arrived at her new home, after a 
tour on the Continent. The joy of tenants, as expressed by 
arches, mottoes, and the public consumption of beer, was 
distasteful to her, and Peter was compelled to forbid any 
form of demonstration. 

That she provided disappointment to many never oc- 
curred to her. She was too deeply immersed in luxurious 
dreams connected with the coming life to pay any attention 
to such hints as her husband exerted himself to drop, and 
he could produce nothing weightier. He was ‘‘ in thrall 
as surely as was the unhappy knight in Keats’s ballad: she 
chained him with sweet abstraction; she offered a com- 
plete and gracious acquiescence to all the lawful demands of 
life and she eluded a mental fusion so delicately that his 
mind, radically intolerant of subtlety, found itself disarmed 
and helpless. 

To Alva herself, marriage had been the only door into a 
kingdom reserved for her from time immemorial. Her 
grandmother had stood for the jailer from whom she had 
stolen with difficulty stray snatches of liberty, chanc'e 
breaths of the atmosphere of coming emancipation. She 
had been content to wait, to let the full flavor of future 
bliss mature slowly in the dark of temporary repression. 
But climax, she had just begun to realize, may arrive too 
late, as well as too early ; and Peter and his goodly heritage 
were factors in the situation not to be ignored. Griselda 
had provided the last straw calculated nicely to break the 
back of reluctance, and the girl had accepted this husband 
with the name of sacrifice cleverly attached to him, as she 


121 


122 A Castle in the Air 

would have accepted a rose with its attendant army of 
thorns. 

For a short time, indeed, she had attempted to give this 
pleasant and handsome companion a definite place in her 
castle of imagination; but the very generosity of his re- 
sponse to all tender overture ruined, very early, his own 
cause. He could deny her nothing, save reserve, and it 
was on reserve that the majority of her beloved fancies 
were nourished. 

With a sigh, more for herself than for him, she resigned 
the idea of even partial spiritual connection. She gave him 
a multitude of sweet looks and kind responses, but, with 
an acumen he could not or would not express, he found 
himself forced to rank as an infant, tugging at her apron- 
strings, powerless to capture more than material attention. 

Her fancy, after this experimental flutter, settled down 
to a rapturous speculation concerning the possibilities en- 
tombed in the old gray mansion towards which she was 
journeying. The honeymoon had spelt the last frail bar- 
rier between herself and the awakening so long delayed, 
so ardently desired. Vaguely she had looked upon the 
palaces of princes and the art-treasures of nations ; for the 
moment there was no magic in values and effects so discon- 
nected from her own personal scheme of interest — they 
merely served as figures for comparison; and it was with 
unconcealed eagerness that she turned her face to England 
and The Court. 

But so fierce was her tendency to dally with pleasure, 
that on this June night it seemed to her that speed and 
light were enemies. 

There was a moon behind the walls of her new home, 
and she would have had this road to triumph dark; she 
would have allowed no lights save the optimistic fancies 
in her breast. For her the pace of the well-matched pair 
of horses was unwelcome, and she could only thank her 
own determination that the motor Peter had sighed for 
had not been bought. She vowed it never should be 
bought. She would never rush with the moneyed mob to 


A Castle in the Air 123 

the smell of dust and petrol. She liked and she meant to 
move deliberately. 

She lay back in her seat, scarcely conscious that her 
left hand lay inclosed in her husband’s right, while, for 
him, this contact began after a time to spell a species of 
torment. It asserted so much that was false. He could 
not help but realize that his gods were not her gods — 
that she had classed them, weighed them, found them 
wanting. 

There was ample time, during that long, steep journey 
upward to where the house stood out like some grimly 
beautiful Dore drawing, to accept multitudinous thoughts 
and impressions, and the two hearts were full — of vastly 
diverse matter. Holy priest and holy Book had pronounced 
them one, but neither priest nor Book could regulate the 
current of emotion bearing each nature in its destined 
way. To the woman this stream was pleasant, stimu- 
lating, full of promise; to the man it was an antagonistic 
force, which he strove vainly to curb, to turn into some 
happier and more generous channel than this dark one of 
jealousy. 

“ Our home,” he said softly, and for a moment her look 
of exaltation set his pulse (lancing; then it fell again in 
recognition of the nameless barrier between their two trans- 
lations of the term he had invoked. 

“You’re happy, Alva?” he ventured again. 

“ Almost too happy, Peter.” 

“ Why do you care so much for inanimate things ? ” 

She could no longer ignore the animosity in his tones, and 
she turned her full and smiling face to him. 

“ You’re actually envious of your own house ; you’re actu- 
ally angry with me because I come to it so willingly.” 

“ Because I sometimes think the house and the name are 
more to you than I am. I don’t care to be only the append- 
age, Alva.” 

Long thoughts floated up into the brown eyes regarding 
him, but no trace of embarrassment, and his sense of wrong 
scuttled out of sight. 


A Castle in the Air 


1 24 

Say Tm a fool/’ he said — ‘‘ it’s true enough ; but you 
intoxicate me. I seem to be always pursuing you, never 
reaching you; you seem to belong so perfunctorily to love 
and marriage.” 

‘'You’re not a fool,” she answered equably; “but now 
and then you are rather foolish. Don’t you see that the 
name and the house are part of you ; that I take them all, I 
love them all? It isn’t wise and it isn’t kind to strike all 
these personal notes so persistently. We’re factors of a 
great race, you and I, that has made its marks on history 
and must make more.” 

Her cheeks began to glow and her voice became eager; 
she sat forward in her seat, looking at the gray pile of stone 
above them. 

“ Our lives are to be written in with all those lives ; the 
men and women in your Long Gallery go right back into the 
past, and through us, their influence is to be carried on into 
the far, far future.” 

“ Oh, bother the Gallery ! ” he said impatiently ; “ it really 
doesn’t matter all that much.” 

“ But it does, Peter. It expresses what individuals can’t. 
Why won’t you understand? Griselda understood, though 
she was only a baby. Those people can’t be ignored — they 
have an influence; I felt it years ago, when I was a child 
myself. I came to The Court with granny, and I was sent 
out of the drawing-room, while the elders talked scandal, 
presumably ; I found my way to the picture-gallery. At first 
I thought, like you, that they were only paint and canvas; 
but presently I saw the people behind the paint come out. 
They spoke to me, coldly and strangely ; they frightened me, 
they made my heart thump with terror — there were so many 
of them and there was so very little of me. There was 
antagonism between us, founded long before; they hated, 
but they had to acknowledge me. I went away for years, 
and the memory slept. It came back with you, but not very 
vividly. Griselda roused the full tide ; perhaps because her 
face was so like others that I recollected dimly. You 
brought me to The Court when we were first engaged, and 


A Castle in the Air 


125 

they were silent that time. It was the oddest, most eloquent 
silence, though ; it was as though they shrugged their shoul- 
ders at me and my intrusion. I went once more alone, just 
before our wedding, and again their mood had changed. 
They were sorry for me ; there were tears behind the pride 
in their painted eyes ; a stream of sympathy flowed between 
us, bearing in and out the most fearful and extraordinary 
emotions and suspicions. Peter, it seemed to me that my 
body and my mind were snatched from me and twisted into 
a quantity of shapes ; not even sex remained. Now I was a 
soldier, and I fingered steel ; now a poet, and I fingered a 
slim gold pen, from which the sonnets flowed in a musical, 
effortless current; now I was the toy and now the lord of 
passion. Laughter and pain battled through me, as though 
my will were non-existent ; I was connected with everything 
and controller of nothing. My face was a plastic mask, and 
fortune played with it as a child with a lump of clay. There 
were hundreds, thousands of us in that Gallery, crying — 
fighting for definition; struggling to make a personal and 
permanent mark, but in vain. Life, love, death — these were 
but names ; we sang of them, we spoke of them, we made 
mock sacrifices for them, but we never, never experienced 
them. Even the black horses took us to no resting-place ; we 
could neither live nor die ; existence was nothing but a per- 
petual agonizing necessity for movement that had no end 
and no beginning.’’ 

‘‘Alva, hush!” 

With an effort she checked the excitement threatening to 
master her, and looked at him with apology. 

“You’re right to silence me. These moods mustn’t be 
encouraged. They don’t come very often, but when they do 
they’re unmanageable from inside. I was an only child, you 
know, and a lonely one, and these get into bad ways. We 
tempt ‘ the little men of the mountains ’ to steal us, and we 
come back ‘ fey,’ with eyes for the mist only and the figures 
concealed in it. Minnie began the mischief — I was such a 
fish out of water in granny’s pompous home ; she used to tell 
me tales in the twilight or the firelight, and when she went^ 


126 


A Castle in the Air 


away I used to invoke her fairies for myself. You must 
forgive me ; you must be patient with me, dear Peter ; but 
oh ! now you’re hurting me ; the rings are cutting my fingers 
under the glove. See, we shall be home directly.” 

In silence they performed the short remainder of the 
drive. It wound uphill, and as they approached the house 
a group of persons could be distinguished drawn up on the 
front steps. 

Apparently the house-servants were not to be defrauded 
of their right to a public reception. But Alva was too deeply 
immersed in the more intangible points connected with this 
home-coming to take serious account of this sudden claim 
upon her courtesy. 

She accepted the hand extended to assist her from the 
carriage, and swept rapidly with far eyes through the line of 
nonplused domestics, and on into the hall. 

There she glanced about her with casual satisfaction at 
the armored figures, the wealth of barbaric weapons, the 
few but fine pieces of bronze and marble that adorned it, 
and made her way, quite unattended, to the main drawing- 
room. 

In the doorway, however, a first premonition of mistake 
caused her to look back towards the hall, whence came the 
sound of voices. Peter was apparently accepting the over- 
tures she had ignored; but in a minute or so he joined her, 
more angry than she had ever seen him. 

‘‘ How did you dare ? ” he began hotly. 

“ Dare what ? ” she asked in some trepidation. 

‘‘ Dare to hurt the feelings of every servant we possess. 
Some of them were here years before I came. First you set 
the tenantry by the ears, then these good souls; it’s just a 
little too much, Alva.” 

She laid her ungloved hands upon his arm. 

I forget; I’m so in love with the whole that I don’t con- 
sider the parts of it. And I’m not used to family retainers, 
you know. At granny’s the maids came and went so fast I 
scarcely even knew their names. I'm truly sorry, and — I’ll 
atone.” 


A Castle in the Air 


127 

She waited for no reply, but hurried back to make her 
amends. 

The antagonism on that row of faces she confronted 
appealed to her ingenuity, and it was a very disarming face 
she offered for this second inspection. 

‘‘ You must forgive my passing you all just now. I 
couldn't have spoken; I was overcome just for the minute. 
Mrs. Meadows " — she singled out the plump and ancient 
housekeeper, and offered a cordial hand — ‘‘ you’ll be sure to 
understand and explain. I came out of the night into this 
beautiful new home ; it was like a dream, and in a dream one 
never does the right thing.” 

Mrs. Meadows accepted this excuse with cordiality and 
the white hand with deferential appreciation. 

That the new Lady Southern should be unconventional 
did not displease her, for the last one had been much too 
commonplace. 

This lady was fair and stately ; she fitted the grave beauty 
of the house as her predecessor had failed to do, and appa- 
rently she brought passion instead of capability to endow it. 
The dame voiced her approval, and the lesser lights of the 
servants’ hall were not slow to follow her amiable lead. 
Alva added a gracious word of recognition to the butler, 
conspicuous in his silver hair, distributed smiles in tactful 
profusion, and returned to the drawing-room. 

“ Minnie wasn’t there,” she said to her husband, after a 
second or two of silent meditation. 

‘‘ Who’s Minnie ? ” he inquired coldly, his good-humor 
only half restored. 

‘‘ Oh, Peter, you must know Minnie ! She’s been back 
here for years ; she was my nurse till granny sent her away.” 

“ She’s upstairs, my lady,” said a voice from behind ; and 
they turned to face Mrs. Meadows again. 

She’s nervous,” the old lady explained ; ‘‘ she asked 
leave to wait upstairs in your ladyship’s bedroom.” 

‘‘ Take me to her at once, please ; ” and, with a nod to 
Peter, Alva left the room in the wake of her stout guide. 

By a long and circuitous route they made their way to the 


128 


A Castle in the Air 


chamber that for many generations had been relegated to 
the brides of the family. 

They often change it later/’ Mrs. Meadows explained, 
as she opened the door and stood back to allow her mistress 
to enter. ‘‘ It hasn’t been used since Miss Griselda’s birth. 
Their last two ladyships couldn’t abide it, and it is a bit 
gloomy for them as don’t care particular for old places and 
ideas. Sir Peter’s mother couldn’t endure the tapestry nor 
yet the use of candles; we’d have had the electric light 
through the house but for the cost of putting it in.” 

It was evident that she aired part of an old grievance, but 
Alva heard nothing of it. The candle that the housekeeper 
carried threw but little light on the vast room; she set it 
down and lit a pair of ancient candelabra standing on a table 
beside the door, and objects at once became visible. A four- 
poster bed loomed into view ; then a dressing-table ; then the 
wall behind both, its vagueness broken by a gilt frame or 
two, inclosing some indistinguishable print. Alva was about 
to investigate the remainder of the room, when a rustle 
from the curtains of the bed caught her attention. 

There’s some one — is it — yes — it’s my Minnie, and she’s 
playing our old game of ‘ hide-and-seek ’ ! ” 

Minnie sidled out of the shadows and pressed the hands 
of this dear recovered nursling to her cheek. She could find 
no words adequate for so great an occasion. To the fond 
creature this was, indeed, a dream come true. Her decree 
of banishment had come as a bolt from the blue, for she 
loved her charge with all the passion that fate Imd chosen to 
repulse at every other point. She had returned to The 
Court to sew and muse, to lead a pale existence in the 
atmosphere that had once been so vibrant with life and 
charm, when, a pretty, brown-eyed woman of nearly thirty, 
she had taken the handsome gamekeeper from a score of 
younger and bolder rivals. Only at rare intervals was the 
monotony broken by the advent of some child visitor, whose 
cry for a fairy-tale she alone could respond to satisfactorily. 
She liked to feel the little hands cling to her, liked to watch 
the eyes grow round with wonder, liked to know that some 


A Castle in the Air 


129 

one still believed in the magic she had herself learned to 
mistrust. When the news came that Sir Peter was to wed 
the child of her tenderest fancies, emotion had made Minnie 
ill, and on the occasions of Alva’s visits she had been absent, 
recruiting in her native air of Devonshire, whither she 
always fled in any adversity, as the wounded beast flies to 
his lair in the forest. 

It’s good to have you with me again,” said Alva, as the 
door closed behind the departing housekeeper. 

'' It’s just a fairy-tale. Miss Alva. I have to pinch myself 
to be sure it’s true. There’s hot water in that can, lovey, 
and a bit of the soap you used to beg for years ago.” 

Shaped like an orange. Oh, Minnie, fancy you remem- 
bering ! Yes, it’s a fairy-tale. Only, that reminds me a little 
too forcibly of granny ; she was always the ogre, though you 
wouldn’t let me say so. How we used to listen for the 
rustle of her gown going safely down to dinner ! And then 
the bogeys you used to raise for me in the dim light of the 
fire or the candle, with my pink dressing-gown wrapped 
round us, and the horrid clock striking hours that nobody 
wanted to remember ! But you never built me quite such a 
gorgeous castle as this, did you, Minnie ? At least, it never 
belonged to me in the same way. I don’t think anybody’s 
house has ever belonged to them in quite the same way as 
this is going to belong to me.” 

How do you mean. Miss Alva ? ” 

‘‘ I mean that I’m mistress of it from cellar to garret. 
There isn’t a hole or a corner I shan’t poke into; there’s 
treasure in all of them. There are memories and traditions 
and queer virtues and perhaps vices, collected by the people 
who had to go ; I shall find them and weave them into the 
prose of modern life, just as the fables were woven into 
the tapestry years and years ago.” 

‘‘ It must be nearly supper-time,” said her companion 
rather unsympathetically. ‘‘ Your luggage hasn’t come up, 
but there’s a comb on the dressing-table; sit down. Miss 
Alva, and I’ll tidy your hair a bit.” 

Alva took a seat before the oval mirror, 


A Castle in the Air 


130 

My hair isn^t quite as easy to tidy up as it used to be,” 
she said doubtfully, as she lent her head to ministra- 
tion. ‘‘ Dora understands the art, but she hasn't come up 
either.” 

‘‘ Is Dora to wait on you ? ” the old woman inquired 
jealously. 

I'm afraid she must dress me up, Minnie ; you see, she’s 
French, and very clever with her fingers. She knows how 
to make me look beautiful ; but you won't quarrel with her 
for that, will you ? ” 

‘‘ What am I to do for you, deary ? ” 

‘‘ I've thought it all out, Minnie. Dora is to dress me up 
and you are to take me to pieces again. That means you 
will be here at night, and I shall have you to talk to; I’m 
never sleepy, you know, and Peter comes to bed very late. 
It will be like the old days back again ; you will brush my 
hair till it shines like gold, and we will whisper together in 
the firelight about all the things and the people that nobody 
sees but you and me.” 

She looked with some surprise at the unresponsive face 
of her attendant. 

‘‘ Aren't you satisfied, Minnie ? ' 

‘‘Yes, Miss Alva, I'm a deal more than satisfied to have 
you to myself like that; but I don't know as them little 
boggats I used to raise for you was altogether healthy. I'd 
like to raise children for you. Miss Alva dear; and, please 
God, I will before long.” 

Her mistress frowned a little. “ There are children and 
children,” she said irritably, “ and some of them, most of 
them, are stupid and exacting.” 

“ Yours couldn't be, deary. They'd have gold hair like 
this, and sweet, wild ways ; they'd keep you that busy, you'd 
have to leave them little holes and corners alone.” 

But Alva moved impatiently. 

“You're a faithless woman, Minnie; you throw me over 
for younger creatures. Now don't look so serious; I'm 
only joking. I must go down; I'm hungry after my jour- 
ney. Show me the way to Peter's dressing-room.” 


A Castle in the Air 


131 

‘‘ It’s the door directly opposite. Shall I tap for you 
and say you’re ready ? ” 

No, I’ll go myself. Hold the candle so that I can see 
my way.” 

Minnie stood in the doorway of the big bedroom, holding 
the light aloft. She watched the door open, watched the 
passion flame into her young master’s face as he recognized 
the intruder, watched the pair go, arm in arm, down the 
long passage and away into shadows of the wide corridor 
beyond it. Their laughter came back to her ears, but, as 
the sweet sound of it died away, the brightness died too 
out of her gentle, faded face. She turned her glance back 
into the room behind her, and moved her candle, throwing 
a shaft of light across it. 

“ It belongs to her,” she whispered, as no other house 
has ever belonged to anybody else ; ” and there was an air of 
defiance in her aspect as she closed the door with a snap, as 
on the last word of a prolonged argument. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE FACE IN THE GALLERY 

During the early part of the supper Stevens and his mas- 
ter kept up a running fire of question and answer. Alva 
listened absently, garnering stray scraps of information 
with reference to tenantry, stock, rents, drains, etc. Names 
lodged in her memory to be reproduced later, but event- 
ually, she was summoned to a more definite intercourse 
with her companions by a command from Peter. 

‘‘ Fill Lady Southern’s glass,” he said to the butler; ‘‘ IVe 
a toast to propose.” 

As the champagne bubbled into it, she felt a thrill of 
enthusiasm invade her rather drowsy senses. 

‘‘ ril give the toast myself,” she cried gaily, and 
her smile flashed across her husband’s face, and on to sur- 
prise the old man at her elbow by its remarkable radiance. 

Peter turned from it abruptly. He could not have ex- 
plained to himself, had he tried, the meaning of that sudden 
recoil. He only knew that for the moment the glitter about 
him was too strong to be convincing, and, involuntarily, 
his glance went out to seek some safer, if darker, point of 
view. 

The walls of his vast dining-room, in an alcove of which 
the table had been placed, were paneled in oak, and his 
eye sank with relief into the somber quality of it. Gaining 
courage, it moved on, taking purposeless cognizance of the 
few and fine pictures. There were a couple of Poussin’s 
works — fugitive drafts, as one of his illustrious critics 
has elected to call them, remarkable more for their devotion 
to the laws of anatomy, and to the main point, than for 
any significance of color. There was a medley of men and 
horses in bistre by his friend Lebrun, and a landscape by 

132 


The Face in the Gallery 133 

that most prolific of painters, Claude Lorraine. Lastly, in 
the far distance, memory rather than good eyesight con- 
trived to reproduce a pair of vivid female faces, the history 
of whose creation had, for centuries, provided food for 
argument between the owner of the day and his artistic 
friends. 

Finally the eye, returning from its circuit of the room, 
lit upon a mirror not very distant from the table. An 
antique French frame circled the glass, with its faithful 
reproduction of the figures and objects upon or around it. 
The young man saw a square of white damask, bright with 
silver and flowers, with china and Venetian glass; he saw 
the profile of a woman, the delicate drawing of both face 
and form, the coils of her yellow hair, the raised arm with 
the stem of the wine-glass between the long fingers; as he 
looked, his appreciation battled with an invisible and in- 
sidious enemy. 

His wife — and therefore his life — was a picture. That 
sweet voice came to him as the sound of running water 
comes to a lover of Arcadia. There was youth, there was 
joy, there was infinite suggestion in its dulcet notes, but 
there was not the answer to the main ridde of life. That 
riddle she and the dryads of the forest knew how to evade ; 
they gave no answers of that sort — they gave what cost 
them nothing — the soulless, mechanical charms of their 
mysterious being. For an instant her beauty was hideous 
to him, and he scowled as he listened to what she was 
saying. 

“To the men and women of the past; to all they’ve done 
for us, and all they’ve left to us.” 

But here the servant, to whom she addressed herself, 
looked back at her with so terrified an air of astonishment 
that she paused and sought for stimulation in another 
direction. She found Peter’s face at last in the mirror, but 
she found, at the same time, the new and alarming ex- 
pression on it. She was too well accustomed to repulse of 
this kind to show pique or disappointment. A little of the 
ardor passed out of her smile, and a little apology came in. 


134 The Face in the Gallery 

‘‘ I'm so sorry ; I can't remember," she said gently to the 
hard eyes in the glass. “ They look so real, so very like 
you and me, Peter; and they didn't want to go and leave 
all these beautiful things. It must be so cold and dull in 
that big vault where they're supposed to be enjoying their 
last long sleep." 

Almost as distrustful of this rush of softer emotion in- 
vading his senses as he had been startled by his late lapse 
into animosity, he turned to Stevens and spoke with less 
than his customary suavity. 

Lady Southern is drinking luck to the house." 

Yes," she put in quickly, luck to all the servants in 
it — to Mrs. Meadows — to my dear Minnie — to you, 
Stevens." 

She put her lips to the rim of her wine-glass, then held it 
out to him with a regal gesture of good-will. 

Drink ; it's a loving-cup — drink to the new mistress of 
The Court." 

Awkwardly he took the offering, sipped a drop or two of 
the wine, and set the glass nervously upon the edge of the 
table. 

Peter, taking pity on his obvious embarrassment, signed 
to him to leave the room. 

‘‘ Mind you see that every one is asked to celebrate the 
occasion in champagne," he called out, as the door was 
closing on the man's broad back. 

Stevens took a somewhat garbled version of the night's 
experience downstairs with him, but it was plain that, once 
released from his discomfort, he was prepared to accept 
with loyalty the peculiarities that had bewildered him. 

‘‘ She's a rare and 'andsome lady," he announced, some 
ten minutes later, from the head of the table in the servants' 
hall, fortified with a glass from which he intended to do 
more than sip. '' She's a grand figure-'ead for the place, and 
after a lady as shall be nameless, seein' as it isn't my way 
to speak ill of the habsent, she comes hacceptable. She's 
odd, that I'll allow, but great families 'as a right to heccen- 
tricities; it sets 'em above the crowd — eh, Mrs. Meadows? 


The Face in the Gallery 135 

Fill up, and drink a long life to ’er. WeVe ’ad enough, and 
a bit more than enough, of them little, dark folks as want 
to know where the last pie but one went to, and ’ow many 
tumblers is gone since summer twelvemonth. She’s the 
right color, and she’s a look of the family. I don’t say as 
she features ’em, but she’s the great lady to ’er finger-tips ; 
and if any one thinks contrariwise, let ’im or ’er get up and 
argue it out with me.” 

Of course nobody was in a position to argue with Mr. 
Stevens, and amity and champagne ruled the rest of the 
evening. 

Alva was accorded a vehement and quite undeserved 
demonstration, but, unconscious of it, she sat in the room 
above, engaged in charming that first serious look of revolt 
out of her husband’s face. It had not been a difficult task : 
a few soft words, a few kind looks and gentle touches, a 
sigh for all she might have been and was not, and he was 
at her feet again. 

She chose to lure him into practical discussion concerning 
the possible and probable demands that would be made 
upon his time, and he followed this lead with amenity. 

‘‘ I’ve been appallingly idle,” he confessed ; ‘‘ the mater 
did all the work and we get all the benefit.” 

She would have it so,” Alva reminded him. 

‘'Yes; she didn’t leave me much of an opening to inter- 
fere, certainly. It suited her to work and it suited me to 
play. But now I’ve got my opportunity. I saw Deane for 
a few minutes before I went up to my room, and he hints 
of a fine field for our united influence, Alva.” 

“Oh, and what sort of a field?” she asked, with an 
access of coldness. 

“ He’ll explain to-morrow ; we’re going to have a big 
morning of it. I shall be out early with him, looking at 
one or two of the farms, and after breakfast we’re to tackle 
ledgers. I suppose you couldn’t — you wouldn’t ” 

“ Couldn’t, wouldn’t what ? ” 

“Come and join us? You’re so quick, not at figures 
perhaps, but at catching the drift of vague suggestions. 


136 The Face in the Gallery 

Deane isn’t the common man of business. He and the 
mater never quite hit it off, though each was just enough to 
see the virtues of the other. I fancy there’s poverty about, 
Alva, but it isn’t a paucity of bread. Deane can explain 
it, though; I’m afraid I can’t — as yet, anyway. I think 
you’ll understand him and like him.” 

He was regarding her with an unmistakable air of ap- 
peal, not untouched by anxiety, for her face had hardened. 

I shouldn’t think of coming to join you. It would be 
very tactless. Of course, I shall do all that’s right and 
usual for the people on the estate, but it never pays to inter- 
fere in the manner Mr. Deane seems to have hinted at. 
People are always ready to take bread if they are hungry, 
but they never take advice, or influence, as I presume he 
calls it, except as makeweight with the practical charity.” 

'' What shall you do to-morrow ? I shall be hours with 
Deane,” he said, trying to suppress all sign of his disap- 
pointment. 

'' I shall have Mrs. Meadows to interview, and then, of 
course, there’s the house to examine. I’ve scarcely seen it.” 

I wanted so much to be there when you went over it,” 
he began, but she cut him short. 

‘‘ You showed me all the state rooms and all the art treas- 
ures when we were engaged. It’s only the corners and 
the cupboards that I want to poke into by myself; they 
aren’t of any interest to a man, but they’re fascinating to a 
housekeeper.” 

And after lunch?” 

‘‘ I’ll ride with you,” she replied graciously, and learn 
the boundaries of our kingdom. Now don’t look vexed with 
me again — it’s the third scowl in one evening. Why won’t 
you take me as I am ? ” 

‘‘You don’t let me take you in any fashion,” he com- 
plained; and, like a match coming in contact with powder, 
the remark set her egoism in a blaze. 

“It’s your own fault. You’re utterly illogical; you 
won’t leave a breath of life in the people of the past, the 
people who stir my imagination, and yet you ask romantic 


The Face in the Gallery 137 

excess of feeling for me. Pray what am I to feed it on, 
if all the men and women in the Gallery are so much can- 
vas? You expect effect, but you won't provide the neces- 
sary cause ; you're too lazy to enforce the relation that you 
want. We're steel, more or less, and you must strike us if 
the sparks are to fly ; but no — it's too much exertion. I'm 
to infuse emotions into you, but you infuse nothing into 
me. At first I thought, I hoped, you would stand out as an 
individual. Sometimes when you were angry or reserved 
I began to weave my fancies round you. But it was no 
use; you always dropped the fit of passion, you always 
spoke — King's English, and the web snapped, and I was 
cross and you were hurt, and life was horrid and prosaic." 

He laughed, but ruefully, and left his seat to establish 
himself with his back to the fire, from whence he could 
look down on her petulant face. 

‘‘ It seems such a roundabout way of meeting, Alva, such 
a poor compliment to our real selves. I'm in love with you 
for what you are, but you could only be in love with me 
for what I conceal. It makes such a farce of marriage." 

She, too, left her seat and came to stand beside him. 
She was tall enough to reach his face with her own, and 
mistress enough of her emotions now to press her cheek to 
his with confiding cordiality. 

‘‘ You're always on the right side of an argument," he 
allowed with some reluctance. 

‘‘ Let's say I'm tired," she coaxed ; we've had a long 
day of it. There's to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-mor- 
row to scold me in. If you don't like the quality of me, 
think of the quantity ; I'm here for life, giving you all I can 
of myself." 

I'm a bear," he said, holding her close ; ‘‘ I won't tease 
you any more to-night. I'll ring for Dora." 

“No, for Minnie; she is the night-nurse. Good-night." 

She lent her cheek to many kisses ; then, taking a candle 
from the mantelpiece — an old-fashioned affair with a snuf- 
fer attached, — she held it out for him to light. 

“ Shall I take you? " he asked ; “ the hall is very dark." 


138 The Face in the Gallery 

No. I love the darkness, and Minnie will be waiting 
at the top of the stairs.’’ 

She moved rapidly away, holding her candle high, and he 
stood in the doorway until she turned the corner and was 
lost to view. 

Are you there, Minnie? ” 

‘‘ I’ve been waiting close on half an hour, lovey. I 
thought you’d be up early after your long journey. Give 
me the light.” 

‘‘ You’re to take me through the Long Gallery.” 

The old woman made no reply, but she walked ahead, 
with the guttering candle in her hand, and Alva followed, 
thrilling with superstitious enjoyment of the gloom and the 
vastness of these new surroundings. In the Gallery the 
moon was shining through the panes of colored glass at the 
farther end of it ; patches of red and blue and yellow pat- 
terned the parquet floor and lay in shafts across a portion 
of the walls. To this romantic creature, with her life as 
unlived as that of a child, the moment seemed to promise 
revelation. It was as though the most precious of her 
fancies, nursed through a long and monotonous minority, 
were about to mature, to harden in their molds, thus turn- 
ing this dreamer of dreams into an anomaly of nature, into 
a chimerical actuality. 

Eagerly she looked about her, catching inspiration from 
a multitude of trifles, half concealed and half revealed. A 
pair of pictured eyes, a length of rosy drapery, the brown 
curved neck of a horse, the two locked hands of, presum- 
ably, a nun or a priest — from every corner suggestion 
flashed out to inspire the responsive mind. Minnie tried 
to move on, but her mistress had her fast by the arm, and 
with a physical strength the other was powerless to defy, 
she bent it with the candle now this way and now that, 
forcing the light to fall on to face after face of this con- 
course of silent people. Before a three-quarter length of a 
woman in a white gown she lingered long. 

“ Who is it ? Oh ! who is it ? ” she said with perplexity. 

I know her face ; I’ve talked to her ; she calls back a host 


The Face in the Gallery 139 

of recollections, but I can’t give her a name, Minnie. She’s 
living again in a modern woman ; what woman ? — can’t you 
tell me ? ” 

Minnie shook an ostentatiously indifferent head. 

‘‘ They’re all alike. Miss Alva, to my mind. Some has 
a dog and some has a baby, and some a rose and some a 
book as they don’t read; I can’t see no difference between 
them, save that some’s men and some’s women and some’s 
clergy-folk as might be either. Come to bed ; the pictures 
won’t run away. You can stare at them all day to-morrow 
if you’re so minded. For my part, I’m sick of them. If 
I’d my way I’d pack the lot off to a lumber-room and put 
up something nice and cheerful instead — ^green fields. Miss 
Alva, and ships going out to sea, and trees of may-blossom. 
These folks are all dead, and dead folks ought to go under 
ground.” 

“You used to speak more respectfully ' of the ghosts, 
Minnie. You used to like them in the old days.” 

“ Ghosts ! ” the old woman snorted angrily ; “ I’ve never 
seen no ghosts to like or dislike.” 

“ Of course you haven’t, Minnie ; but you’ve seen lots of 
the people who used to live here and have been turned out. 
I expect you to tell me scores of tales about them. There 
was Sir George, to begin with — Griselda’s father, I mean, 
not her grandfather. I like his eyes — there’s a smile and 
a sigh in them; and then he had to go so early. If I’d died 
like that, with all the life so hot in me, I couldn’t have 
stayed in any grave. But there, don’t look so vexed : take 
me to bed.” 

But during the process of hair-brushing, her whimsical 
humor crept out again. 

“ What a wise old bed, Minnie ! What somber red cur- 
tains! What a lot of us have lain awake behind them 
waiting for the light! I’m glad,” she added, with sudden 
relapse into flippancy, “ that Peter’s excellent mother 
wasn’t one of them.” 

“ She never lay awake behind no curtains. Miss Alva 
dear, and you’ll do well to follow her example.” 


140 The Face in the Gallery 

Alva yawned, and sent a last foraging look round the 
room before embarking on her prayers. 

Why, there’s another door,” she exclaimed, ‘‘ behind the 
curtain to the right! Now don’t call it a cupboard for 
dresses; tell me it leads, by a corkscrew staircase, down, 
down to a cellar or a blocked-up vault.” 

Well, it does lead to a corkscrew staircase,” her at- 
tendant admitted ; but it winds up and not down, and 
it leads to nothing better nor worse than a child’s play- 
room.” 

‘‘ The Play-room ! ” Alva cried, and left her seat to hurry 
to this unexpected point of attraction. Of course, Gri- 
selda told me; they all go that way — the shapes that pass 
you in the dark. But it’s locked,” she added, rattling the 
handle impatiently. 

‘‘Of course it is. Nobody wants to go into that dusty 
bit of a place, unless it’s beetles.” 

But Alva was, evidently, indifferent to beetles. 

“You must find the key,” she said peremptorily; “and 
you’re not to go up first and tidy all the rubbish away. 
I want to poke in it; I’ve fancies, you know, about the 
children who used to play there.” 

“ What sort of fancies ? ” the woman asked. 

“ Well, there was once a little girl called Gwenny,” her 
mistress replied mockingly ; “ she’s grown up now and her 
hair’s white, but there’s a fable in her brown eyes and no- 
body will explain it to me. She comes once a year to call 
on granny; and when I ask questions about her, everybod}^ 
pretends to be absent-minded or deaf. But she used to 
slip in and out of the conversation much in the manner of 
an indiscretion — at least, that was how it struck me.” 

“ I can tell you all there is to tell about Miss Gwenny,” 
the old nurse said quickly ; but Alva laughed. 

“ No, thank you: I’d rather pry out the story for myself, 
but not to-night — I’m too sleepy. I’ll say my prayers, and 
then you shall tuck me into bed as you used to do.” 

In the silence that followed Minnie stared fixedly, but 
unseeingly, at the bent head, with its two long plaits of 


The Face in the Gallery 141 

hair. Like some grotesque but benevolent idol she stood, 
patient and motionless, behind the gracious kneeling figure. 

A few minutes later she was bending, with her usual air 
of gentle ministration, over the bed, in which her mistress 
lay snugly ensconced. 

'' I want that funny old rhyme you used to whisper over 
me, Minnie.’’ 

It wasn’t a rhyme, deary ; it was a prayer.” 

Well, say it, whatever it was.” 

“ There are four corners to my bed ; 

There are four angels round my head: 

Two to watch and one to pray, 

And one to guard me night and day.’’ 

‘‘ That’s it ; how it brings back the old thoughts ! I al- 
ways used to disapprove of the distribution of work; it 
seemed to me that the last angel had an undue amount, 
while the first two, watching together, were let off much 
too easily. Now don’t frown, you funny old relic — I’m not 
really profane ; I’ve a great affection for those four angels. 
I want them established each at a corner of this four- 
poster ; only, I think they’ll have to be four guardian spirits 
of the house.” 

‘‘ You leave them spirits alone. Miss Alva.” 

‘‘ But they won’t leave me alone, Minnie.” 

‘‘ That’s nonsense, deary. You’re the new Lady South- 
ern now, not a child any more.” 

Alva locked her arms about the woman’s neck and whis- 
pered into her ear : 

‘‘ I’m not, and you know I’m not. They all think so, 
Peter included. But we know better. You taught me 
magic ever so long ago, and it’s all coming back. You and 
this fairy palace will make it quite easy.” 

“ Make what easy? ” the other answered sharply. 

‘‘The double life, you dissembler; what are you afraid 
of? Danger? Discovery? Why, you know as well as I 
do that nobody can find the fairy except the lover of the 
fairy ; certainly not the ‘ People Downstairs,’ as we used 
to call them.” 


142 The Face in the Gallery 

'‘You're tired, deary, and excited; you don’t know what 
you’re saying.” 

Alva laughed again with peculiar enjoyment. 

" You shall say so if it makes you happier, but you’re an 
accomplice for all that. You can refuse to speak to me of 
our guilty secret — of connection and emancipation ; you can 
call me Lady Southern, but you well know, in that constant 
heart of yours, that it makes no difference. I’m the child 
you used to bewitch in the firelight ; her world was too chill 
and cold for her, and so you manufactured a pair of wings. 
I’ve got them, Minnie, and in the night I spread them and 
float up and away, out of this dull world. Why do you 
tremble? Does age make us all nervous? There, you 
must go — I want to sleep; and you must tell Dora not to 
come too early in the morning ? ” 

Minnie went in silence. In the corridor she met her 
master and he smiled at her. 

" Glad to have her back?” he asked pleasantly; but she 
only shook her head absently, as at some obstruction in a. 
line of thought, and took her noiseless way down to her 
own quarters. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A FAMILY RETAINER 

At about nine o’clock on the following morning Alva 
stood in the sunny morning-room regarding a portrait of 
the lady she had supplanted. The two women had met 
occasionally, but always with a mutual impression that it 
would be advisable to skirt intimacy. 

It was to her that the young pair owed their financial 
prosperity, but it was impossible to accord her more than 
a theoretical vote of gratitude. It was so obvious that she 
had no use for gratitude, or even for aifection. She was 
a woman unaccustomed to traffic in emotion ; she dealt, and 
she dealt summarily, with facts and facts only. No incon- 
siderable amount of her own fortune had been spent upon 
the estate. The long reign of economy had been consistent, 
and the tyrant, as she was called below-stairs, had not 
hesitated to sacrifice her personal luxury. Concessions 
had crept in where her son was concerned; he had enjoyed 
an ample allowance at college, and a certain amount of hos- 
pitality had been extended to his friends in the autumn. 
But even these lines of exception had been drawn without 
any reference to sentiment, and from first to last the in- 
tercourse between the two had been unswervingly prosaic. 

It wasn’t life at all ; it was nothing but routine,” Alva 
said, aware that her husband had entered the room and 
was standing behind her. 

‘‘ You talk as though she were a thing of the past,” he 
objected, “whereas she’s intensely alive. I heard from 
her this morning. She’s dipping her fingers into her 
cousin Tom’s property, of v/hich he’s been making the 
proverbial ducks and drakes. She’s bought up the mort- 
gages, set him on an allowance, and she’ll have the place in 
- 143 


144 


A Family Retainer 

good working order in a year or two, but nobody will 
thank her. Tom will regard her as a positive nuisance. 
But come to breakfast; Tm literally starving.'' 

‘‘ You've been at work since six o'clock, haven't you? " 

‘‘Yes; don't say I disturbed you, but all the boards creak 
like mice in this house, especially if one attempts to tread 
softly." 

“ Where have you been ? " she asked, with well-concealed 
indifference, from behind her elaborate coffee equipage. 

“ Over two of the farms. Both admirably managed, I 
can tell you. In fact, the estate is one of the best-worked 
affairs in the county, Deane tells me, and I can well believe 
it." 

“ If I told you I was the best wife in the county would 
you take the assertion on trust ? " she asked mischievously ; 
but he looked through her towards the idea engrossing his 
attention. 

“ The mater was a wonderful woman. She'd knowledge 
of land value positively uncanny." 

“ I can quite believe it," Alva answered, her glance stray- 
ing once more to the picture. “ I've a positively uncanny 
knowledge of the value of dress." 

“ I've never looked at land with any sympathy before," 
Peter went on, pursuing his own line of thought. “ There's 
someithing startling in the relation between it and its farmer : 
if you're slack the land's slack, if you're generous the land’s 
generous. It's the finest example going of the law of fair- 
play.” 

“Yes, dear. Have another egg?" 

“ They've a brood of hens," said the young man imper- 
turbably, “ in young Dawson's farm that beat record with 
their ‘ lay.' He's going to make a fortune out of them." 

Alva sighed, and relinquished the hope of rousing him to 
irritation. She was unaccustomed to liberty of idea com- 
ing from her husband, and it was a trifle galling to be ig- 
nored in this fashion. But, his hunger satisfied, the Times 
skimmed through, Peter woke to a recollection of his wife, 
and drew her tenderly towards the open window. 


A Family Retainer 145 

It’s not a bad inheritance, is it?” he said, indicating 
the wide stretch of country before them. 

'‘No; and yet you wanted to be a soldier,” she re- 
minded him. 

" Oh, that’s a want in the blood : my father left it me.” 

" You’d have lost me with the acres. Do you suppose 
granny would ever have dreamed of letting me follow the 
drum ? ” 

" She wouldn’t have approved, but I like to think those 
complex properties of your mind would have induced you 
to defy her authority.” 

" The complex properties have a great respect for bodily 
ease ; I like a soft cushion almost as much as a vague idea.” 
But he refused to be lured further into such unprofitable 
argument at that time of day, and took a somewhat hasty 
leave of her. 

She picked up his Times and proceeded to imbibe the 
most important news in it. She had no intention of play- 
ing an ignorant part in county society ; she meant to show 
up seldom, but always with distinction; and she believed 
herself ingenious enough to embroider an arresting pattern 
of her own on to such of the daily topics, political, artistic, 
or religious, as it would be necessary to take into account. 

Mrs. Meadows’ tap on the door caused her a rapid heart- 
beat, for the old lady represented a dangerous factor in the 
sum of hostile influence out against her liberty of action. 

After a commonplace or two the inevitable question ap- 
peared : 

“ About the orders, my lady ? ” 

" Yes,” said Alva cautiously, " it must be a serious affair 
catering for a house of this kind; I’ve had no experience 
whatever, but — of course — the meals — the dinners — must 
be arranged for.” 

The note of helplessness was intentional, and, encour- 
aged by the sound of it, the housekeeper produced a paper 
from beneath her black silk apron. 

" The meals for this week were all arranged for, but if 
you could suggest any alterations, my lady, I should be 


146 A Family Retainer 

pleased to make them. All these dishes are favorites of 
Sir Peter’s, I may mention.” 

Alva was glad to let her eyes drop to the paper. She 
was fearful lest the satisfaction in her heart should be 
reflected upon her face. It was so manifest that the good 
dame meant to play into her hands. The very responsi- 
bility that she dreaded and disdained this woman desired, 
just as she herself desired a free field for the exercise of 
her wanton fancies. Mechanically her eye passed down 
the list: French savories and Russian salads, spring 
chickens and creatures in aspic; it was not of tastes and di- 
gestions she thought, but of the degree of indignity ex- 
pressed by such a renunciation of her household rights as 
the occasion was offering. 

‘‘ The last Lady Southern ordered everything, I be- 
lieve?” she began, tentatively. 

^'Yes, my lady; but it was never what I should call a 
satisfactory arrangement. There was continual grumbling 
in the servants’ hall. Miss Griselda’s mother left every- 
thing to my judgment, and I must really say that things 
went better, even if a pound or two more was spent in the 
week. We can’t help hoping that you’ll give us another 
trial on the old plan. Mr. Stevens has never been quite 
himself since her last ladyship took away the key of the 
wine-cellar. It’s the confidence, my lady, and if things 
don’t work out well, they can always be changed again.” 

That’s quite true,” Alva agreed, grateful to the woman 
for the tactful form in which her suggestion had been 
worded. 

I’ve had so much experience, my lady, and the work’s 
such a pleasure to me. May I take it that, for the present 
at any rate, things are to remain as they used to be before 
the advent of the last mistress? May I take it that all the 
arrangements for the comfort of the house are to be in my 
hands ? I could see your ladyship for a few minutes every 
morning and learn if there were any special orders you 
wanted carried out or any visitors expected.” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Meadows, we’ll try your way and see how it 


A Family Retainer 147 

answers. For the present, there will be no visitors to con- 
sider; and as for food, Fm indiiferent to what I eat, and 
you know Sir Peter's tastes far better than I do. I'll see 
you, as you suggest, for a few minutes at this time in the 
morning, just to be sure that the wheels are running 
smoothly." 

There was a gracious note of dismissal in her accent, 
and Mrs. Meadows, having secured her precious point, took 
glad advantage of it. Alva sat for some minutes, the prey 
to a slight prick of discomfort. She was too shrewd to 
overlook the fact that she had been tempted into a definite 
form of treachery. She had, tacitly, washed her hands of 
any responsibility concerning the practical welfare of her 
house, but she was too practiced in self-esteem to allow the 
sense of guilt much license. 

She decided to begin her examination of the picture- 
gallery by this excellent morning light, and she made her 
way, not without numerous wrong turns, in the direction 
of it. 

It was delightful to lose oneself, over and over again, in 
one's own house; and she was almost sorry when success 
finally crowned her efforts, and she found herself once 
more in the fine company so stimulating to her imagina- 
tion. 

Every subject had to claim some connection with the 
family, but the area over which the record spread was wide, 
and this was no mean collection of artistic efforts. In the 
best lights there were Van Dycks and Lelys, Gainsboroughs 
and Sir Joshuas; Sir Thomas Lawrence was represented, 
though not in his happiest vein, and Ingres set his name, at 
least, to an imposing figure of female haughtiness. Alva 
had seen enough of foreign galleries, and heard enough 
discussion on art, to suspect the genuineness of more than 
one of these family possessions, but the doubt failed to in- 
fect her enthusiasm. She was prepared to take these 
effigies of life at a valuation of her own, connected solely 
with the nature of their appeal to her emotions. 

In spite of her avowed devotion to the antique, it was 


148 A Family Retainer 

soon apparent that curiosity drew her, slowly, but surely, 
to the modern end of the room, where Lehnbach, Sargent, 
Fildes, and many a latter-day representative of art had 
been at work. 

She looked with dreamy ecstasy on slim Southern youths 
in quaint attire; on the gentle-eyed hounds courting the 
touch of their preternaturally long and white fingers; on 
Southern maidens with high waists and round, soulless 
faces; on priests and scholars, on soldiers and statesmen; 
but the magnet brought her, eventually, to the spot at the 
end of the room where the last baronet but one held the 
place of honor. 

It was typical of Henry that, even after death, he should 
make himself subservient to the brother he had succeeded. 

To be sure, his picture had been painted when he was a 
younger son, and it was an unpretentious piece of work ; it 
was also undeniable that George made the finer center- 
piece. He was in pink, and the brown nose of a favorite 
mare nozzled his shoulder. The rein was drawn over his 
arm; he lingered, but not without reluctance, to allow the 
artist the rather ridiculous opportunity of offering him to 
posterity : in another moment, one felt, he would be off, to 
the forest that had tanned his fair skin to so delightful a 
shade of brown — to the forest, in whose depths his eye had 
already caught the trail of some quarry, more potent than 
bird or beast. 

Alva looked into those strange eyes, at once audacious 
and tragic, and on to the face of the pale dark brother, 
with a wrinkling of the forehead. 

It was perverse of fate to link her with the uninteresting 
side of the family. Henry was well-featured and well- 
looking ; he had the same air of quiet restraint that marked 
his only son. From him, doubtless, Peter had inherited 
that ingrained respect for establishment and the trivial 
round so provoking to this child of romance. 

Her eye always returned to the hunter. Let memory and 
the social powers tie him to Bertha Venner and non-achieve- 
ment if they chose; she would consent to bind him to no 


A Family Retainer 149 

such chariot-wheels. He had gone unmated, in all the finer 
senses of the term; he had gone abruptly with unspent 
passion in his veins. Let the historian of his house write 
his neat record : of birth — of marriage — of issue — of death ; 
let the great doors open first to one successor, then to 
another. Not so easily did these earthly chains regulate the 
movements of human vitality. The real history, the unfin- 
ished history of this restless, despoiled man lurked in the 
atmosphere of his home; one had only to keep very still, 
to banish even thought, and into the vacuum created crept 
the consciousness of a dominant personality. For this girl 
it took more than an unsteady mare and a park fence to 
dam the stream of expression. 

When tired of the intensity of her own surrender to one 
sort of emotion, she set her wits to work in a new direc- 
tion — viz., on the discovery of a route to the library. 

This retreat promised her, besides a comfortable chair, 
another sort of companionship. It was said to contain, as 
well as its array of books, an ancient librarian. 

For about sixty years Calder had lived at The Court. 
As a young man he had worked under his father at the 
cataloguing and scheduling of the rare volumes collected 
by the family during many centuries; and on the elder 
Calder's death, forty years ago, the younger had taken 
and since kept the entire control of the place. 

He was a man of good blood and considerable independ- 
ence of character. For nearly two hundred years these 
scions of an impoverished great family had been the 
proteges of the Southerns. Not that the term had ever 
been employed by either side; the Calders were unfortu- 
nate, the Southerns fortunate, gentlemen. The Calder of 
the day was accustomed to meet the baronet of that same 
day with something a trifle less amenable than an air of 
equality. To these plain livers and long thinkers property 
was the attribute, and mind the pivot, round which exist- 
ence moved with, for them, such ponderous gravity. They 
had a tendency, born perhaps of their occupation, to drift, 
year by year, a little further into philosophic reverie; and 


150 A Family Retainer 

though the age would have had little patience with it, the 
Southerns had, apparently, much. 

The flippancy of the times was seldom allowed to pene- 
trate the atmosphere of the room where this particular 
Calder had sat from youth to age ; and when, at rare inter- 
vals, a bevy of gaily dressed people, women for the most 
part, forced their way into his sanctum, it was invari- 
ably the world, and not the spirit (as expressed in the 
shape of this recluse), that was put to the blush of awk- 
wardness. 

Young Calder eyed the invaders sourly — ^he scored off 
such of their weaknesses as they betrayed, pitilessly; mid- 
dle-aged Calder eyed them analytically, seeking to deduce 
from their varied aspects what he could of revelation con- 
cerning humanity; old Calder looked at them with disdain 
or reproach, in that they had failed, one and all, to provide 
his mind with any very satisfactory conclusions concerning 
the necessity for their existing at all. 

The old man's keen eye was always on the hunt for breed- 
ing material, but disappointment had soured its outlook, 
and he had practically resigned himself to the theory that 
the vaunt of his classics with regjird to the sacred quality 
of the vital spark was certainly unproven, and, in all proba- 
bility, unsound. 

At first Alva believed the room to be empty. She estab- 
lished herself in a broad and deep-seated leather chair and 
amused herself by staring at the multitudinous covers of the 
books lining three of the walls from floor to ceiling. The 
blinds had been drawn to keep the sun from their more or 
less handsome backs, and the room was so vast that much 
of it remained necessarily in shadow. It was only after 
two or three journeys round it that her eye lit suddenly 
upon a ladder. It was a long, thin, decidedly unsteadyr- 
looking ladder, and at the very top of it sat a diminutive 
figure in a skull-cap and a gray dressing-gown. 

She cried out in her astonishment, and the ladder began 
to rock violently. She ran forward to steady it, and looked 
up with considerable anxiety at the old man above. 


A Family Retainer 151 

‘‘ Dear me ! ” he said fretfully, peering down through a 
pair of spectacles ; ‘‘ what a tiresome young woman ! 

Doubtless, like many another hermit, he was accustomed 
to voice aloud his inner thoughts. 

I’m Lady Southern,” she said. But if it was an 
apology she angled for, it was the last thing she would be 
likely to receive. 

‘‘ Of course,” he said dryly. ‘‘ Who else should you be ? 
It’s not likely that two strange women would come to the 
house in one day.” 

Alva decided to be tickled by the novelty, rather than 
annoyed by the discourtesy, of this address. 

‘‘Suppose you come down?” she suggested; “ Til hold 
the ladder. It’s awfully rickety, and I can’t think how you 
ever dared to go up so high.” 

Mr. Calder continued to glare down at her for some 
seconds; then, with infinite deliberation, he stood up and 
began the descent, turning round after every step to locate 
the next one. 

When he was safely established on the floor Alva heaved 
an audible sigh of relief. 

“ I don’t think you ought to climb to such a height at 
your age,” she said severely; “ you might have been killed.” 

He was engaged in trying to remove a patch of dust from 
his shoulder, and took his time over replying. 

“ I’m quite ready to go when I’m wanted,” he said at 
last, as he took a chair. He leaned back in it, putting the 
tips of his fingers together with an air of resignation. 
“ Take a seat,” he added, as an afterthought, and she took 
the one nearest his own. 

“ I thought I’d come and see you, Mr. Calder,” she began, 
finding he had apparently no intention of starting a topic 
for her. 

“ Well, you’ve seen me.” 

“ And to have a chat with you, Mr. Calder.” 

For a moment it looked as if the librarian would protect 
himself from her persistence by going to sleep, but he 
jerked his eyes open and regarded her sharply. 


152 A Family Retainer 

Do you think we should either of us gain any benefit 
out of a chat?’’ he inquired with discouraging listless- 
ness. 

Have you never come across anybody who proved to be 
worth the expenditure of half an hour of your time?” 

Her tone was that of unadulterated satire, but he an- 
swered quite simply. 

‘‘ Everybody looks at matters from one standpoint, Lady 
Southern. It’s always, ' / think this,’ and ‘ / feel that,’ and 
^ I want the other.’ There’s no concentration of force.” 

But that’s exactly what I complain of,” she cried eag- 
erly. “ Only the individual is considered ; he won’t let 
himself be absorbed into history; he won’t become a part 
of life; he must be the center, and he makes such a tame, 
insignificant center, doesn’t he ? ” 

'' Yes, but it isn’t always a ‘ he,’ ” the old gentleman 
observed, and he closed his eyes once more, thus putting 
an effectual stopper on the discussion. 

Alva was conscious that any of the emotions natural to 
the occasion would be at a discount, so she swallowed her 
indignation and chose a new point of attack. 

You’ve been here a great many years; you must have 
seen a great many people come and go.” 

A great many people have come and gone,” he ad- 
mitted, but I can’t say I’ve seen much of them.” 

Well, you must have seen Sir George,” she said 
sharply. 

‘‘Yes; he was a very wealthy old gentleman; not en- 
lightened, not in the least enlightened — rather restricted, 
in fact, but an honest creature.” 

‘‘ I mean Sir George the younger,” she explained, and 
Calder appeared to be routing up an old and not important 
memory. 

‘‘ Sir George the younger ; yes — yes — to be sure ; there 
was a son — two sons, I believe. Ah ! now I have them, 
George and Henry, both gone before, my dear.” 

‘‘ Yes, of course, or I shouldn’t be reigning here, Mr. 
Calder.” 


A Family Retainer 153 

No more you would; well, it's a pity — it's a great pity 
they died so young." 

Alva thought it best not to inquire whether her advent 
emphasized the pitiful nature of the case. 

Did he ever come here and talk to you ? — Sir George, 
I mean ? " 

‘‘ He came here, but he wasn't much of a talker. He 
used to inquire after the state of my health — which never 
varied, and he used to admire the covers of the books ; but 
I could have kept white mice between those same covers 
and he'd have shown more interest in the mice than the 
sacrilege — not that I blame him; I'm not sure his wasn't 
the wiser attitude. It's better to look into the mechanism 
of a live mouse with intelligence than into the minds of 
fifty wise men with indifference. But the difficulty is to 
find a live animal to examine; the race is dead, my dear, 
dead as a door-nail, and its movements are only muscular — 
only muscular," he repeated mournfully. 

Don't stop, Mr. Calder. Tell me more about George. 
He was very much alive, for a time, anyway. He had a 
story; you can't deny it. It's been kept back. There’s a 
conspiracy of silence, but the spirits in this old house are 
trying to betray the secret. They whisper to me, Calder — 
they try to explain, and its always the story of George 
they're worrying about. They won't allow him to be the 
ordinary happy husband and father ; they won't allow 
Bertha Venner to be his morning-star, and indeed it isn’t 
at her he's looking in his picture at the head of the Long 
Gallery; he's looking higher than her fashionably-dressed 
head. Who's he looking at ? " 

Must it be an individual ? " the librarian inquired dryly. 
‘‘ Why not an actual morning-star ? He was neither fool 
nor scholar, and such nomads have a tendency to worship 
at strange shrines." 

‘‘You won't trust me," she said, with the vehemence of 
acute disappointment ; “ you won't give me the name. But 
suppose I find it for myself? — suppose I call the siren (or 
was she a saint?) Gwenny?" 


154 A Family Retainer 

Boldly she searched his withered face for some sugges- 
tion of dismay, but he showed nothing more illuminative 
than a slight increase of animation. 

'' Gwenny,’' he repeated softly, reminiscently, the little 
girl with yellow hair. It's a good name. Lady Southern, 
less vulgar than many you might have chanced upon. And 
she came here, long ago, and sat in that very chair where 
you are sitting; and she too chattered of stars and spirits, 
of books in the running brooks, and everything that's 
pretty and unproven. She must be old by now ; the yellow 
must be white or nearly so. George was right — the star 
keeps its color but the woman doesn't. Take your Gwenny 
away; I don't know where or why you found her, but 
she's no more use in an argument than a worn-out pair of 
gloves." 

But she was young once," the girl persisted, ‘‘ and the 
mark she made then remains, even if decay has taken the 
marker away." 

Mr. Calder shook his head with a return to his original 
air of disdainful patronage. 

I don't agree with you," he said; ‘‘ I see no significance 
in individuals. An attempt was made to vitalize but it 
failed. A little spirit spurts up here and there, as in a 
dying fire, but it only serves to reveal the decadence of its 
own cause. We're a burnt-out force, existing for just a 
little longer than is advisable or dignified, owing to a small 
fund of habit left over by the centuries that are gone." 

‘‘ What a horrid creed ! " said Alva, hoping, however, to 
lure him into further epitome of it; but the old man drew 
a gigantic silver timepiece from his pocket, and remarked 
that he always took his luncheon punctually at one o'clock, 
and it was then exactly three minutes to the hour. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE DELICATE AND DIFFICULT ART OF EVASION 

They call it a play-room and never suspect 
There’s enchantment behind the untidy effect: — 

That, down in the corner, wrapped up in the gloom, 

There sits a grim woman, at work on a loom ; 

That over the ceiling, with cobwebs embossed, 

Are riding — full gallop — for “ Paradise Lost ” 

The Little Tin Soldier, the Wandering Jew, 

The horrid “ Old Woman who lived in a Shoe,” 

The fairy we startled, the doll we forgot. 

The lady with wings, from the end of our cot. 

Then follow the magic, but go unawares, 

Or they’ll stop us, for certain, “ The People Downstairs.” 

Aivay into space, into company rare ; 

For there’s method in what they call madness, down there; 
And fact is the fantasy, logic the dream; 

The only reality — “ things as they seem ” ; 

The elves of the woodland, the witches of night. 

The beckoning figures of children in white; 

The women who bartered their lives for a ring. 

The soldiers who bled for a Cause or a King; 

The mystic Majority — worsted by law — 

Have discovered the pass-word and opened the door. 

Then follow the magic, but go unawares. 

Or they’ll chain us to reason, “ The People Downstairs.” 

The veil of the mountain, the song of the shell. 

How swiftly we ride on the track of their spell ! 

The essence of wonder, the seed of desire. 

How boldly we scatter their circle of fire ! 

Great god of emotion, your secret we hold ; 

But why is the secret so still and so cold? 

Can such venturous instinct submit to defeat? 

Was the ghost of our childhood a broomstick and sheet? 
The narrow conditions we thought to have fled, 

The fates of the feeble, the graves of the dead; — 

Was it these that we followed and took unawares. 

While the magic remained with “ The People Downstairs ” 

155 


156 The Delicate Art of Evasion 

Finding another hour of freedom still upon her hands 
before lunch, Alva decided to investigate the play-room, 
and now she sat cross-legged upon the dusty floor with a 
battered old exercise-book in her lap in which the above 
verses had been scribbled presumably a good many years 
ago. They were unsigned, but she had her own notions 
concerning the authorship of them, though it appeared she 
intended to keep her speculations to herself, for when 
hailed by a voice from the stairway she hastily tore the 
leaf from the book and thrust it into the front of her 
white cambric waist. 

‘‘ What are you doing. Miss Alva ? That room isn't fit 
to go into ? " 

Presently a gray head appeared and then a thin form in 
a voluminous apron. 

Pm making discoveries, Minnie dear." 

‘‘ The thing you're most like to discover here is some 
nasty germ," the old woman replied with an unsympathetic 
sniff. 

Well, open the window and let it out." 

Minnie lifted the heterogeneous collection of articles off 
the window-sill and proceeded to wrestle with a rusty 
bolt. 

That's better," she said, as the window slipped open 
and a current of warm June air swept into the room. 

Alva sniffed at it eagerly as it reached her, and came to 
stand beside her companion. 

‘‘Ah, there's a Gloire de Dijon trying to look in; I 
thought I smelt him — and oh! what a long way below the 
garden is ! " 

“Yes, it's a terrible height up," said the old woman 
dreamily, as she bent out to look down in her turn. “ But 
the young gentlemen thought nothing of it," she added, 
forgetful, it seemed, of her customary reserve. 

“Thought nothing of it — what do you mean? Why 
should they think anything ? " Alva inquired in a puzzled 
voice. 

“ Look there, Miss Alva — there, where I've torn the 


The Delicate Art of Evasion 157 

ivy away a bit; do you see them little steps? They go 
right down to the ground and right up to the roof.” 

Oh, Minnie ! you don’t mean to say the children used 
to climb them ? ” 

Yes, but I do,” the old woman answered with excite- 
ment. ‘‘It was their secret stairway; it was cut by Mr. 
George and Mr. Henry, when they were no higher than my 
waist. You see, the wall’s hid from any folks as might be 
in the garden by this angle of the wall; and hundreds of 
times, to my knowledge, they come up this way to the roof 
or in at this window. They got a grip of the ivy; it’s that 
old, it’s as good as a rope to hold by.” 

“And did they never come to grief, Minnie? ” 

“ Not by that road, lovey. I suppose grief has to come to 
each of us in its own way and at its own time, and we can’t 
choose the way nor yet the time, by climbing up the sides of 
houses.” 

“ But didn’t you get somebody in authority to stop 
them ? ” 

“ No, Miss Alva. It doesn’t do to treat children that 
way. I begged them not to, times and again, but if I’d 
carried the tale downstairs, they’d never have let me near 
them again. Children have to go through a certain amount 
of risk, and these children were sure-footed as cats — all the 
Southerns are,” she finished, with the pride of a partial 
family retainer. 

“ I thought you lived with the keeper at the lodge, 
Minnie ? ” 

“ Not till I was nigh on thirty. I lived here as house- 
maid, under and upper, from sixteen onwards, and I mar- 
ried from the place, fool that I was ! but that’s neither here 
nor there.” 

“ And they used to bring Gwenny here,” Alva mused 
aloud ; “ but that must have been much later ; they weren’t 
boys any more when she came to visit them.” 

“ How you do worry about Miss Gwenny ! Of course 
they brought her up here at times; they used the room 
long after they were grown men. They used to clean their 


158 The Delicate Art of Evasion 

guns or mend their fishing-tackle or what not. All folks 
like a bit of a place as they can have to themselves. But 
it’s close on two, and if you’re to ride after your lunch 
you’d better get yourself ready before.” 

Alva submitted to be led downstairs to her bedroom 
and handed over to the waiting Dora to be dressed for her 
ride. 

I’ve never seen you in such a state before, my lady,” 
the girl declared pertly, and there’s scarce ten minutes 
to put you right in. I’ve been looking for you this last 
’alf-’our.” 

Dora’s ‘‘ h ” was apt to come and go, contingent, for the 
most part, on the amount of spare breath she happened to 
be in possession of. She was a stout, florid young person, 
with an excellent opinion of herself, and Alva’s occasional 
snubs made little headway against this imperturbable spirit 
of complacency. 

She spoke briskly, with an accent that had, originally, 
been Lancashire, but now possessed a thin layer of French 
polish, acquired during a brief sojourn in a Paris hair- 
dressing establishment. Minnie had a soft and unusually 
refined voice for one of her class, and she and Dora were 
too adverse in type to quarrel. 

Each looked with good-natured tolerance at the limita- 
tions of the other, seeing in them a satisfactory barrier 
against the favor of their mistress. 

Impossible to do more than pity such a frump ! ” was 
Dora’s inward comment; and '‘Impossible to be fond of 
such a pert piece of atfectation ! ” was Minnie’s. 

It amused Alva to let herself be bullied, to a certain 
extent, by her two attendants. And in matters relating to 
the toilet, Dora was no mean adept; even the stiff details 
of a riding-dress could be made, by her deft fingers, to 
pander subtly to a lover of the picturesque. Her mistress 
took a last complacent look at her own image in the oval 
glass, before she went down, with her long skirt over her 
arm, to join her husband. 

She encountered the agent in the hall, taking leave, and 


The Delicate Art of Evasion 159 

she approached him, with her free hand extended in cordial 
greeting. 

'' It’s Mr. Deane, isn’t it ? ” she said gaily ; and he 
hasn’t yet forgiven me my hole-and-corner entrance.” 

Mr. Deane was a thin^ small man, with no hair on his 
face and but little on his head ; he had bright, eager, kindly 
eyes, and a forehead always wrinkled up, generally in sym- 
pathy with the troubles of other people. 

‘‘We shall forgive darker wrongs if you ask us in that 
fashion,” he said, and the gallantry did not sit as ill on him 
as one might have expected, for it was paternal in its char- 
acter. Inwardly he accused this fair and beautiful woman 
of coquetry, but he rather approved than otherwise such 
thorns about so unmistakable a rose, and coquetry is a 
very human foible and usually connected — so he argued — 
with warmth of temper. 

Eagerly he embarked upon the recital of his hopes 
concerning the welfare of the estate, explaining that from 
a material standpoint there was little or nothing to im- 
prove. The cottages were in good repair; the farms were 
all well let; the drains immaculate; destitution practically 
non-existent. But would Lady Southern understand him 
if he added that there was too much comfort? He could 
only explain his meaning by a reference to the absence of 
what the poets, he believed, called “ divine discontent.” 
There was lethargy, laxness, both mental and physical. 
These people around them had been stimulated to a point; 
they had achieved independence and ease, but they were 
lamentably unconscious of the great law that forbids stag- 
nation. They wanted now incentive of another kind; and 
as he spoke his thin cheek glowed with fervor, but Alva 
did not respond to it. 

The same veil of discreet reserve that she had, more 
than once, offered to Peter’s attack upon her freedom, was 
produced, but the agent, unfamiliar with its significance, 
gave her no time to speak. 

“ We stand on a safe rock. Lady Southern, but we w^ant 
to cultivate a .few flowers upon it. You can have no idea 


i6o The Delicate Art of Evasion 


how difficult it is to instil into this particular class a taste 
for the right flowers, or how dangerous is the practice 
common to it, of discarding flowers altogether. I wonder 
if Tm making myself intelligible?’' he finished, a first 
doubt beginning to invade his optimism. 

The flowers of the intellect, I presume you mean. Til 
offer them, Mr. Deane, and with all the discretion I pos- 
sess; but I must warn you that Tm a staunch advocate 
for independence, and if Tm told to keep my enlightened 
ideas to myself, I shall consider that Tve only got my 
deserts.” 

The agent was apparently staggered by this unexpected 
repulse. He changed color and looked down into his hat, 
uncomfortably aware that he had been tricked into pre- 
mature eloquence by a deceptive aspect. With a bitter 
consciousness of disappointment and defeat, he retired on 
to a few courteous platitudes, and took his leave. Sir 
Peter followed him to the door, listening absently to the 
apology he proffered for his late intensity. 

I hope I wasn’t impertinent. It’s the last thing I 
meant to be ; but I’m so steeped in love of the place and 
the people on it that I forget social fences. I see a fine 
instrument suited to my particular purpose, and I pick it 
up without a " with-your-leave ’ or ' by-your-leave.’ Your 
mother was a remarkable woman. Sir Peter, and she did 
the rough work as no other could have done, but she hadn’t 
the wand of personal magic. Folks went to her with sore 
heads, not with sore hearts. But that lovely wife of yours 
is an influence few could withstand. I was carried away 
by the look of her, and I’m afraid I spoke without due 
respect of persons and conditions.” 

No, Deane, you spoke very much to the point, and she’ll 
say so herself before long. She’s even more deeply in love 
with the place than we are. You mustn’t doubt it, even 
though she wouldn’t follow your lead just now. She’s to 
ride with me over it this afternoon. Remember she’s seen 
nothing; it’s a dream kingdom as yet, and she winces at 
every prosaic touch on it.” 


The Delicate Art of Evasion i6i 

But I meant my touch to be anything but prosaic/^ the 
other objected. 

'' I know you did, but she has her own views as to what 
constitutes prose, and Tm not very well versed myself yet. 
Mind you come up in the morning at the same time, and 
well run through those ledgers.’’ 

But as he returned to the hall, Peter’s expression altered. 
His wife lingered there, playing absently with the fronds 
of a giant palm, and with unusual roughness he captured 
the idly moving fingers. 

“ You’ve got to play fair, Alva. You belong to me and 
my people. You can dispel this torpor of which Deane 
speaks if you choose to take the trouble — but will you?” 

Yes, when you put it that way,” she answered unex- 
pectedly. 

But at this first word of submission his anger and his 
power over her dissolved together. He knew, even as he 
pressed the hot palm of her hand to his mouth, that he 
broke the rare thread of union between them. He knew, 
even before she snatched the hand away, that the disrup- 
tion was his own doing; though he rebelled at the knowl- 
edge as a man rebels at a travesty of logic whose folly he 
is powerless to expose. 

And do you call it playing fair to give me the same 
monotonous tale morning, noon, and night ? ” she retorted. 
'' I give you variety, at least ; I give you sensations, even 
if they’re angry ones ; but what, pray, do you give me, ex- 
cept the alphabet of maudlin sentiment ? — the ' I love you — 
I love you — I love you ’ of every wooer from the beginning 
of time? ” 

A saving sense of the ridiculous came to the rescue of 
the situation, emphasized by the opportune sounding of 
the luncheon gong. For a moment he saw her as a petu- 
lant child rather than an evading goddess. He saw her 
playing with facts as a little girl plays with her dolls, and 
he told himself that she would tire of the mimic compan- 
ionship so soon as life began to circle. 

He was hungry after a long morning’s work; there was 


1 62 The Delicate Art of Evasion 


food and there was sunshine waiting for him. There was 
the long afternoon with this fantastic creature beside him ; 
and with a laugh, not wholly forced, he left her, his 
further protest unuttered, and went upstairs to wash his 
hands. 

She remained for a minute or two in the quiet hall, prey 
once more to that faint prick of mental discomfort, but it 
passed off as rapidly as its forerunners had done, or rather, 
it was submerged gradually into the passion dominant in 
her veins; and as a tyrant punishes the defiance of the 
slave his cruelty has provoked into rebellion, so her inflamed 
temper set to work evolving new lines of division between 
herself and the disturber of her dreams. 

She had thought to set her husband at the outer gate of 
her personality, had thought to give him such confidences as 
egoism could spare ; but now there came to her a first doubt 
as to his ability to accept even these crumbs of intimacy, 
and her treachery took another step forward. Musing 
darkly and rapidly, she came to the resolution to play a 
more definite part in practical intercourse with him, and, 
under cover of this concession, to set a thicker hedge 
between their spiritual proximity. 

The plan worked smoothly enough on this first afternoon. 
There was much material ground to review and criticize, 
and there was just mundane appreciation enough in Alva’s 
mind to enable her to sound a convincing note of interest in 
the width and breadth of her new dominion. It pleased her 
vanity to look with the eye of possession on these well-tilled 
acres and these rows of obviously rustic faces. It pleased 
her to be gracious to all, and to realize that this same 
graciousness made an indubitable effect. 

But it was on this same night that there came to her a 
first suspicion of the flaw in her idol, the idol to which she 
sacrificed so glibly the rights and the pleasures and the 
hopes of others. It reached no point of definition, but her 
mind, circling boldly in flie atmosphere of its choice, lit 
suddenly upon the disturbing knowledge that isolation, like 
every other virgin force, suffers from a sense of incom- 


The Delicate Art of Evasion 163 

pleteness. It was as though a supernaturally clever artist 
had been condemned to play to empty benches ; and though 
much of the impression of limit passed away in sleep, she 
met the new day with a sub-conscious determination to 
keep a hitherto forgotten door ajar for the welcome of that 
partisan, without name or form, who, according to the laws 
of her being, was bound, eventually, to come to the de- 
fense. 


CHAPTER XVI 


DORSET COMES INTO PROPERTY 

Bertha Southern's expectations were duly fulfilled, 
and her future son-in-law spent but a month or two in 
Uganda. 

A telegram announcing the death of his brother then re- 
called him from a sphere of action that had already set its 
stamp of disillusion on his spirit. 

It may have been merely the effect of the climate upon 
an essentially British constitution, but it seemed to him 
from the first that he could read a certain malicious asser- 
tion in the dark faces about him — the assertion that his 
boats were burnt, that he was trapped in a country that 
had no use for him, by a country whose vanity demanded 
these vain sacrifices, and the only mark he could hope to 
make was that of physical endurance. He trusted that 
these impressions were erroneous — were but the emanations 
exhaled by a sickly fancy; he trusted that a more expe- 
rienced mind would be able to read into the situation, not 
malice but appeal — the cry for education and the awakener. 
Still, it was impossible to misconstrue the thrill that went 
through hipi on the receipt of a cable from England, and it 
was equally impossible, he found to his consternation, to 
erect any convincing monument of grief over the remains 
of his brother. 

His Government having been warned of this contingency, 
he was enabled to start for home without much delay, and 
in June he landed in England and made for the north. 

His new possession lay some thirty miles distant from 
Edinburgh, and its isolation gave it what claim it had to 
importance. Such little country estates, like Alexander, 
reign alone, and do not suffer much from comparison with 

164 


Dorset Comes into Property 165 

greater ones. There were but few neighbors within calling 
distance, unless the ubiquitous motor should come into seri- 
ous play, and the neighborhood round The Little Castle, as 
it was christened, had a reputation for conservatism. 

It had been in the family for several centuries, but, 
unlike The Monk’s Revel, it had gradually acquired, in- 
stead of resigning, land. The Dorsets had started as farm- 
ers (from the point, that is, at which their history became 
traceable) and they had advanced to the position of small 
squires; from here, onward to that of country potentates, 
entitled to shoot their own birds, the way had been easy, 
owing to their shrewd heads, their thrifty habits, and a 
qualified racial bent towards progression. 

A small portion of the farming land was retained and 
tended for household use, but the greater part was sublet, 
and brought in an income adequate to the demands of a 
people singularly free from extravagant ideas. 

Arthur Dorset was an exception to the family rule, and 
led an idle life, the result, possibly, of physical delicacy. 
He left his affairs in the hands of a steward thoroughly 
honest but not particularly capable; and Harry, racing as 
fast as an express could take him towards authority and 
independence, came to the conclusion that he would be his 
own manager and that certain indiscretions (they were 
scarcely abuses) he had detected in the working of the es- 
tate should be abolished. 

His expectations had a wide field over which to circuit, 
and if an inanimate block of stone and mortar composed 
the central point to them, that point inclosed another and a 
more delicate one. 

It had been comparatively easy to keep Griselda at arm’s 
length so long as a pen was permitted to define the nature 
of their intercourse, but, with the knowledge that a day or 
two must bring him within the range of that personality 
with which he had already warred somewhat helplessly, the 
young man became aware of a certain throb of the pulses 
that had once before been the forerunner of mental col- 
lapse. 


1 66 Dorset Comes into Property 

He had the railway carriage to himself, and he looked out 
into columns of gray smoke, blown by the laboring engine 
past the window. Many faces formed and faded; many 
promises, sweet and sinister, floated into view and out 
again. 

Conscious that a single face was beginning to take undue 
prominence he compelled memory to hark back to views 
at temperamental enmity with this insidious trespasser; he 
recalled old forms of pride, flattered old prejudices, but 
always with a furtive eye on the effect such opposition 
might be calculated to produce in the sensitive aspect of 
his temptress. He told himself that he meant to teach 
her her limit, while still holding her fiercely to that intoxi- 
cating promise that he would not fully accept but could 
not absolutely reject. To reassure a slumbering suspicion 
of meanness in this attitude he drove his mind back to the 
wrongs of the past. Again he bent an extravagantly defer- 
ential back to the edicts of the law that had made of him 
that inconsidered trifle — a younger son; again he looked 
at the vineyard he had so obstinately ignored, and beneath 
the light of later circumstances he saw that it had always 
been Naboth’s. He had been the slave of chance; he had 
been housed among the casualists of the day ; he had been 
compelled to hang upon the skirts of patronage, with every 
drop of blood in his veins, hereditary and cultivated, clam- 
oring for autocracy. 

Now he was the master of moderate circumstances, of 
an ancient house, she must regard him suitably, not with 
that half petulant, half quizzical, wholly untamed expres- 
sion. Gradually he contrived to secure a mental upper 
hand, to compel into the saucy loveliness of her face a look 
of submission. A realist, probing deep, might have trans- 
lated the demand as the unquestioning submission of the 
gifted greater to the arbitrary less,” for, surely, she was 
great with inconsequence, with immaturity, with pliancy of 
mind. 

But for Harry Dorset at this time women were divided 
neatly into three divisions. There were those he approved. 


Dorset Comes into Property 167 

those he disapproved, and those he contrived to ignore. 
There had been an accident or two, an occasional defeat at 
some hands he had presumed to criticize too carelessly, but 
the record behind him had no very dark stain upon it, and 
lack of development was perhaps the main count against 
his intelligence and his generosity. 

At the country station where he alighted, a trap was 
awaiting him, and he disposed rapidly and pleasantly of 
the five miles of hilly land separating him from his new 
home. 

For his sister-in-law it was impossible to feel liking or 
disliking ; she was pretty, conscientious, limited in idea, and 
Arthur had married her because he was too intrinsically 
lazy to woo a woman of character and too fundamentally 
domestic to live alone. 

For the children Harry had more tender thoughts. In 
one he saw the strain of gravity and reserve that had com- 
plicated so early his own outlook upon life; in another he 
saw the amiable garrulity of the mother, made charming by 
curls and color and extreme youth; in a third he thought 
to catch the look, so nearly forgotten, so oddly influential, 
shut behind a coffin lid, upon the face of his only sister, 
a child of nine, and, he had fancied, his secret adorer. The 
baby resembled all the lovely children of every generation ; 
she was round and roguish and confiding; she was ready 
to transfer her sticky thumb from her own mouth to her 
grave uncle’s with quite disarming cordiality, and there was 
primitive paternity enough in him to appreciate the uncon- 
scious appeal of all four upon his generosity. And the type 
of sacrifice they demanded was precisely that which it 
pleased him to give. It pandered to his love of authority. 

But in his long talk with Annie after dinner, he had to 
curb considerable impatience. She had an unfortunate 
tendency to touch susceptible nerves with a finger rough, 
he could only suppose, from lack of education. 

She was grateful, honest, a devoted mother, but he 
found himself seconding her suggestion to move across the 
border with her young family with suggestive emphasis. 


1 68 Dorset Comes into Property 

Eventually this move was decided upon; a spot suitable 
for educational purposes selected, and the lady’s income (a 
point absolutely at the mercy of the new heir) settled, to 
her unmistakable relief and satisfaction. She might well 
be satisfied, for her brother-in-law had engaged to supply 
her with a sum not far short of one-third the amount pro- 
duced by the estate, an amount which in its entirety had 
never sufficed to substantiate the dream of Mrs. Dorset’s 
married life — a small establishment in town during the 
season. 

While accepting with gratitude and some emotion this 
happy solution of her troubles she could not refrain from 
catechizing her benefactor with reference to his coming 
marriage. 

The news of his engagement, so it transpired, had been 
betrayed by Lady Southern, under the heading private 
and confidential,” directly after Arthur’s death, and Annie 
was full of kindly wishes not altogether disconnected from 
her own pecuniary interests. 

I shan’t be quite at my ease, Harry, till you’ve estab- 
lished the succession. You see, it goes, in the event of your 
sudden death — and sudden deaths are common to all flesh,” 
she put in parenthetically, '' to the Vernon Dorsets, and she 
— Mrs. Vernon — gambles all day and all night, so I’ve 
heard. How soon do you think of marrying? ” 

'' As soon as it can be fixed up, I expect, as you don’t 
want any interval of mourning.” 

I can’t afford to want it,” she said pathetically. 

Lady Southern may hold out for a big function,” he 
suggested; but Annie shook her head. 

‘‘ Oh no, she won’t do that. She never wants her daugh- 
ter too much in evidence. I’m not very bright, but I’ve 
gathered that much out of her. She’ll be sure to want a 
quick wedding and a quiet wedding. The fact is,” she 
added, with some embarrassment, '' there has been talk.” 

About what ? ” he inquired sharply. 

About an elderly and wealthy Colonel of Dragoons, 
retired. It seems he wanted Griselda, and Lady Southern 


Dorset Comes into Property 169 

had to tell him she was engaged; but if Tm not very much 
mistaken, Harry, she has hopes of catching his heart on the 
rebound. She and Griselda are staying with him, at the 
present moment, in some cottage on the river.’’ 

In response to this startling information the young man 
asked for a railway-guide, fixed his departure for an early 
hour in the morning, despatched the groom to the post- 
office with a couple of wires, and listened to the residue 
of Annie’s gossip with a very obviously affected air of 
attention. 


CHAPTER XVII 


DORSET COMES INTO MORE PROPERTY j 

Driving to the Carlton, whither Lady Southern had 
summoned him with reassuring promptness, 'Dorset came 
to one or two satisfactory conclusions: firstly, the Colonel 
must have come to the scratch, or the lady would hardly 
have selected this particular hotel; secondly, it was plain 
he himself still ranked as a factor in her schemes, or she 
would not have bidden him to dinner in so casual and 
friendly a fashion. It was with plenty of confidence, there- 
fore, that he entered her small private sitting-room and 
accepted her congratulations on his return. 

Griselda shall come to you directly,’’ she said, as she 
reseated herself. '' We don’t dine for half an hour, and 
I’m not going to appropriate more than ten minutes of it. 
In point of fact, I can say what is necessary in two. Your 
engagement must be announced at once. I’m sorry to seem 
a little dogmatic, Mr. Dorset, but the situation has changed 
since we last enjoyed a discussion together.” 

Harry saw an opening not to be disdained. 

‘‘ Well, to be frank, Lady Southern, Annie betrayed the 
nature of the change. Am I to understand that my with- 
drawal would not be disagreeable to you ? ” 

Her flush of consternation gave him considerable pleasure. 

“Your withdrawal?” she faltered. “I’m afraid I don’t 
understand.” 

“ What ? Annie’s wealthy ex-Colonel of Dragoons is a 
myth ? ” 

“ Colonel Gorringe,” she said, with what dignity she 
could muster, “ certainly paid her some attention, but he 
retired at my first hint that she was not free to receive it. 


Dorset Comes into More Property 171 

It was one of those ridiculous ideas old men get into their 
heads at times. He sees the folly of it himself now, and, 
perhaps I ought to add, he has since seen some one more 
suited to companion him/’ 

In short, he has seen you.” 

She decided to cover her natural indignation with a smile. 

“ You are very quick,” she said amiably. 

“ Well, so was he.” 

Lady Southern laughed with quite a creditable air of 
amusement. 

‘‘ You’re more flippant than I supposed; but now, come to 
business. When I allowed you a private engagement to 
Griselda I didn’t realize how attractive she is and how easy 
it would be to dispose of her in marriage. I exaggerated, 
in fact, the mercenary tendency of the age. You must 
know, without my telling you, that you are not, even now, 
what is termed a good match, and you must know that my 
position as Colonel Gorringe’s wife will permit me to give 
my daughter every chance.” 

Watching him cautiously, she became certain that aliena- 
tion was the last thing he desired, and the knowledge gave 
her an opportunity for retaliation she was not slow to take 
advantage of. 

There is no occasion,” she went on more firmly, for 
anybody to play the reluctant lover to Griselda. If there 
is a grain of hesitation in your mind concerning your own 
desire to marry, I beg you most earnestly to retire. Can- 
didly, I should like to insist upon that retirement. I have 
no liking for you, but, though I’m a selfish woman. I’m not 
an unkind nor yet a self-deceiving one, and I’m bound to 
confess to you, as well as to myself, that you have touched 
her fancy. It is only a child’s fancy, though, and I sincerely 
believe I could eradicate it. I should take her abroad — the 
Colonel likes life on the Continent — Paris, Monte Carlo, 
Cairo — oh, the round you know, from which we’ve been 
excluded so unfairly. It is for you to decide, for Griselda 
is altogether too emotional to recognize the common-sense 
side of the question. As I told you once before, I can pity 


172 Dorset Comes into More Property 

her though I can’t understand the odd and impulsive rules 
by which she lives.” 

Understand, at any rate,” he said, with as much vehe- 
mence as even she could desire, “ that there is not, and there 
never has been, any question of my retirement, ‘ The 
round,’ as you term it, may suit you and Colonel Gorringe, 
but it shall never be given a chance to suit Griselda.” 

Oh dear ! I’m afraid I’ve vexed you again,” she mur- 
mured with mock plaintiveness. ‘‘ I never do seem to say 
the right thing from your point of view, or Griselda’s 
either. Of course, if you’re sure you want her, I haven’t 
a word more to say, except that the engagement must be 
announced in the ordinary way and the marriage ought to 
precede my own.” 

Have you fixed a date for the latter ? ” he inquired, 
with a return to his ordinary serenity. 

Colonel Gorringe talks of the autumn.” 

‘‘Then shall I say July, if Griselda’s willing?” 

“ And if you don’t object to a quiet wedding,” she added. 

“ I infinitely prefer it. Lady Southern.” 

“ Then I’ll fetch Griselda.” 

But, near the door, she paused and looked back at him 
with an air of hesitancy. 

“ I know you don’t credit me with any maternal feeling, 
Harry ” — she spoke his name softly, and there was a hint 
of moisture in her faded blue eyes, the timely acquiring of 
which had been a study of her youth, — “ but I’ve got enough 
to see the change that the past months have made in 
Griselda. She has been thinking during your absence, and 
I fancy — she makes me no confidences, you know — but I 
fancy she has turned up the unpleasant idea that it was pity, 
and pity only, that induced you to make that wonderful 
offer. You know best whether there was anything in your 
letters to arouse such a suspicion ; but if you really want to 
keep Griselda, you must be careful. She’s no longer the 
child who took your patronage with awe and gratitude; 
she’s grown up. If she sees a trace of vacillation in your 
attitude — and her eyes are sharp, Harry — she’ll refuse you ; 


Dorset Comes into More Property 173 

not because she doesn't love you enough, but because she's 
learned to love you too well to take a qualified devotion 
from you." 

There was truth as well as subtlety in this speech. Lady 
Southern had kept a very discerning eye upon her daugh- 
ter. Griselda had changed considerably during the last 
months, and, unless carefully protected, there was every 
chance that she would be tempted by her increasingly sensi- 
tive conscience to betray the fictitious rock on which her 
very real palace of sensation had been founded. She must 
be guarded yet a little longer from her dangerous impulse 
towards confession. Dorset was not old enough or experi- 
enced enough to be trusted with this girl-nature in all its 
complexity ; his patience was limited and his pride was not. 
He must be kept from catechism; he must be infected with 
some degree of anxiety. And it was evident that Lady 
Southern's last words had done what she expected of them. 

He stammered out something between an apology and a 
promise, and more than satisfied by this exhibition of weak- 
ness, she left the room to fetch her daughter. 

And, meanwhile, Griselda sat behind a locked door, wait- 
ing to be summoned, struggling with a host of contradictory 
resolutions. From the moment that Arthur Dorset's death 
had warned her of her lover's return, she had been the prey 
of self-torment and self-disgust. 

‘‘Shall I confess to him?" 

The question revolved pitilessly through her brain, 
through much of the day and yet more of the night. A 
thousand times she told herself that there was nothing to 
confess, that her day with Glover had been but an insignifi- 
cant act of revolt, that no real, or at least no illegal, interest 
had followed the tempter of the indiscretion; and a thou- 
sand times her reason was shouted down by a multitude of 
voices with no logic behind their shrill utterances. 

Now it was the ignominious fear of detection, by means 
of her unrecovered letter, that faced her; now the protest 
of a naturally open and generous temperament. She wanted 
to start fair. She longed to tell the extent of her treachery. 


174 Dorset Comes into More Property 

to wrest pardon, and something more, from the man who 
wrote to her so coldly and dictatorially. When the moon 
rose and filled her sleeping-chamber with blue light, she was 
a fairy, superior to mortal laws and mortal limits ; it became 
easy enough to win, in imagination, her momentous cause. 
But when the sun woke her out of fitful and insufficient 
sleep, the wonderful explanatory clauses that were to lash 
his intellect into comprehension had all flown away, and she 
was nothing more than a weary, pessimistic mortal, with a 
great many mistakes behind her, and a frowning and im- 
placable judge ahead. For there was more than the tale 
of a day’s ride to explain. 

There was the idle schoolgirl, learning all too readily the 
value of duplicity. With an impious finger she had prodded 
the pieces on the stage of that country house, and lives had 
changed their character, or at all events their direction. 
Alva had taken, all unsuspecting, the subservient role, and 
now, to her prompter, the action seemed terrible; like the 
movement of a vast army going by night it knew not 
whither, to destroy or to create it knew not what. Some- 
thing slumbered in the great house that had been Griselda’s 
cradle; it would emerge slowly but inevitably; and all the 
forces that must emerge with it, spiritual and material, 
could be traced back to one source — to the womb of a mis- 
chievous and idle mind. A step in the passage checked 
these excursions and alarms, so monotonously familiar. 
The girl leaned forward and peered into the mirror near 
which she sat. Her cheeks were paler than usual, and, 
involuntarily, she put her handkerchief to them and rubbed 
the color back. The speed at which it returned brought 
her a momentary thrill of reassurance. There was a story 
before which logic, law, responsibility went down. What 
was it? Where had she heard it and from whom? A 
sharp rap on the panels of her door gave her the answers 
she sought. It was the story of such lives as her mother’s, 
and, with a shiver of repudiation, she rose and crossed the 
room to admit the intruder. 

‘‘ He’s looking so well and so happy,” the lady com- 


Dorset Comes into More Property 175 

merited, as she entered ; but Griselda looked back, fearfully, 
into her animated face. 

‘‘ Smooth your hair a little, take oif that most unsuitable 
expression of melancholy, and come downstairs,’’ Lady 
Southern commanded briskly. 

‘‘ Not yet, mama. I haven’t made up my mind what to 
say to him.” 

‘‘ He won’t ask you to say anything that requires consid- 
eration; I can promise that, Griselda. Why will you treat 
a very happy occasion with this ridiculous air of tragedy ? ” 
But she closed the door behind her in answer to that same 
disturbing air. 

“ Do you remember my visit to Miss Merry, mama ? ” 

‘‘ Let me think. Miss Merry? Oh, to be sure; yes, just 
after Alva’s wedding. What about it ? ” 

‘‘ I said I would go there to avoid the heat in London, but 
— but I went to meet Anthony Glover. He was the son of 
the lovely lady with the white hair, and, partly for that 
reason, I went up and talked to him at the wedding, without 
an introduction.” 

‘‘ Well? ” said the elder lady impatiently. 

‘‘ He was rather queer and attractive and — he asked me 
to meet him again, and I said no, but I meant yes all the 
time, and he knew it.” 

Really, Griselda, this isn’t the time for trivial reminis- 
cences ; Harry is waiting.” 

It isn’t a trivial reminiscence. I went to Miss Merry’s 
because she lived near the Glovers, and I rode with him.” 

“ Well, dear?” 

‘‘ I let him talk to me — intimately, you understand ? ” 

‘‘Yes, yes.” 

“ I let him kiss me.” 

Lady Southern laughed. 

“Very indiscreet; but, if that’s all you want to say, 
let me advise you not to keep Harry waiting any longer.” 

“ But will Harry only call it indiscreet ? That’s the 
question, mama. That’s what’s worrying me to fiddle- 
strings.” 


176 Dorset Comes into More Property 

She had purposely left the locality of the kiss indefinite, 
suspecting her mother's code of morals would be at least a 
peg below the common one, and curious to discover the 
common verdict on her conduct. 

'' My dear child, do you really, seriously believe that any- 
body marries anybody without an Anthony and a kiss of 
some sort behind the action? Do you suppose, moreover, 
that a man wants the bread-and-butter of complete igno- 
rance for his life companion?" 

“You mean he won't mind? he'll understand and for- 
give? " 

“ Of course he'd forgive the fact, though not the utter- 
ance of it," Lady Southern declared, after a second's 
deliberation. 

Griselda’s face fell. 

“ That means you don't want me to confess, in case we 
lose him. You don't care about the justice or the injustice 
of the case, you only care about the gain or the loss in it, 
mama." 

But the other was grateful for this frank outburst. It 
helped her to a course round which her mind had been 
hovering. 

“ Listen to me, Griselda. Circumstances have altered 
considerably since our last serious discussion. I am going 
to marry a rich man who will be only too willing to advance 
your welfare. I shall be delighted to dismiss young Dor- 
set " — the lie came out very easily and naturally — “ he has 
never been a favorite of mine, and only our desperate 
situation made me accept his oflfer. That little insignificant 
country estate of his is a trifle compared with what I shall 
now be in a position to ask for you. I shall take you abroad 
with us, dear, and give you every advantage that your birth 
and my now full purse allows. You shall marry really well 
if you do all that I advise." 

The horror she had foreseen and schemed for filled her 
daughter's eyes. 

“ Break with him ! Marry somebody richer ! Go hunting 
abroad with Colonel Gorringe's purse ! Why, mama, I love 


Dorset Comes into More Property 177 

him! I couldn’t treat anybody that way, least of all him. 
How dare you ask me, you who told me to trick him into a 
declaration? I love him in spite of the trickery. You made 
me begin, and now you want to make me leave off; but I 
can’t, and if I could I wouldn’t. There are limits to my 
weakness and my meanness, and this is one of them.” 

Her mother concealed all signs of the satisfaction this 
outburst afforded her. She resumed her usual tone of 
plaintive acquiescence. 

Of course, if you feel that way, dear, I shall put no 
pressure on your inclinations. I’ve told you before I’m not 
the mother of melodrama. But understand this — trust my 
experience of the world even if you won’t trust me to 
choose you a husband: if you want to make this poor mar- 
riage, if you want to stick to that opinionative young man 
downstairs, you mustn’t tell him any of the nonsense you’ve 
been telling me. He won’t stand the name of Anthony 
Glover just at present; though I promise you he’ll laugh at 
it easily enough in a year or two.” 

‘‘ Can’t you be honest with anybody, mama ? ” 

‘‘ Not with a man before marriage. They’ve too many 
prejudices, you see, dear. They’ve too much sense of dig- 
nity to keep up, and they’ve too little trust in your loyalty. 
You can tell your Harry anything you please when he’s 
once learned the sincerity of your dependence on him. 
Now isn’t there reason in what I’m saying?” 

Griselda, deftly netted between love and fear, agreed to 
find policy at least in the advice. 

And her lover met her, as Lady Southern had promised 
he would. There were no inquisitorial utterances; there 
was, instead, an attitude not dissimilar to her own, an air 
of nervous excitement infinitely reassuring, and an absence 
of patronage highly encouraging, to the spirit of exuber- 
ance so long suppressed. 

This was not the man who wrote the letters she had 
dreaded to open. This was the man with whom she had 
ridden and coquetted, the man who looked up at her in the 
dark stable-yard, with the light of youth and promise in his 


178 Dorset Comes into More Property 

green eyes. She was not afraid of him. He was young 
too. Was there, perhaps, a female Anthony and a kiss 
behind that vaunt of superiority which came and went, 
according to the degree, it seemed, of her proximity ? She 
sat beside him, her hands imprisoned, answering the 
questions — the simple, inconsequent questions — he elected 
to put. 

‘‘ And you turned up your nose at a wealthy Colonel of 
Dragoons ? ’’ 

‘'Yes; it’s never come down again, Harry. What a 
delightful way of explaining its slight tendency to be 
retrousse! 

“ Did he want you very much ? ” 

“ No ; he didn’t really want me at all. It was mama he 
wanted.” 

“ Did you explain his mistake to him, Griselda, or did 
she?” 

“ I’m not going to tell you. You’re too hard on mama 
as it is.” 

“ There, you have told me. Are you always so trans- 
parent ? ” 

“ Look right into me,” she said on a sudden breath of 
optimism. “ There’s only one thing to be seen ; do you 
know what it is ? ” 

“No; tell me.” 

“ My love for you. It’s flowing through and through me, 
like a river, sweeping down all the old landmarks, leaving 
nothing — nothing of the horrid, foolish past.” 

“ Why horrid, and why foolish ? ” he asked, with a lapse 
into his old air of disapproval ; and hastily she curbed the 
impulse carrying her towards exposition. 

“ Because you don’t belong to it.” 

“ I see ; and when will you come, Griselda ? ” 

“ Come where ? ” 

“ To some desolate German forest with me, and, inci- 
dentally, of course, to the altar?” 

“ When you please,” she told him with radiant simplicity 
of look. 


Dorset Comes into More Property 179 

‘‘What! without frocks or frills?” 

“ They’d be out of place in a forest.” 

“ So they would. Shall we say three weeks to-morrow ? ” 

Lady Southern embarked with enthusiasm on the pur- 
chase of the trousseau, and Griselda was not disposed to 
grumble at the simplicity of the frocks chosen. The wed- 
ding was, of necessity, a private affair, and only a very 
small gathering of relatives was present. 

Sir Peter and his wife made an excuse Lady Southern 
hardly considered adequate or civil, but nobody else ob- 
jected to the bride being given away by her future step- 
father. In fact, the old gentleman’s obvious reluctance to 
resign her, caused a titter of amusement to run round the 
wedding party, but for once Lady Southern refused to see a 
grievance, even though it flaunted itself audaciously beneath 
her very nose. She was to remarry into affluence ; she was 
to shine once more in a somewhat dimmed fashion — but not 
beside the star of youth that had for so long threatened to 
eclipse her own. Griselda would retire into the country, to 
be swallowed up by rural pursuits, to be chained comfort- 
ably and securely to her horses and her dogs, to her auto- 
cratic master and her probable brood of children. 

“You have chosen the better part, darling,” the lady 
murmured, as she kissed the face beneath the plain travel- 
ing hat. “ It is better to make a happy marriage than a 
great one ” ; and for once in her life she was trapped into 
speaking the truth. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FAIRIES AND FOOD 

Griselda had her father's innate disdain for books and 
for the imprisoning walls where education commonly elects 
to sound her note; but she had, like that same father, a 
respect for the secrets of fervid life concealed among the 
pages of these despised books. At school she had managed 
to evade much of the information doled out in the unpalat- 
able form of dates, and, from a scholarly standpoint, she 
was an ignoramus, but she was possessed of a quick mind 
and the assimilative propensity that permits its owner to 
attack lost ground with temerity. 

Harry, on the contrary, had his historical facts, and many 
a savant's fancies at command, but he was deliberate in 
disgorging, just as he had been deliberate in acquiring. 
Knowledge spelled for him the power to worst antagonistic 
circumstances, and he had imbibed with it a smart dose of 
bitterness, which he re-offered, almost unconsciously, to all 
with whom he came in contact. 

For a time it was inevitable that these tendencies of his 
should be at the mercy of his wife's picturesque betrayal 
of ignorance. For a time it was an agreeable novelty to 
laugh at her ebullitions of contempt for the bleak bones of 
learning. But it was equally inevitable that such an attitude 
should be temporary, and it was fortunate that she should 
unearth a suspicion of his fundamental disapproval in time 
to cope with its coming assault upon her happiness. Turn- 
ing her clear but hitherto casual glance ahead, she foresaw 
occasions when this pretty trifling would irritate his temper 
and alienate his affection. Strange resolutions, foreign to 
the nature as yet revealed, began to throw shadows, not 
wholly mournful, across the brightness of the honeymoon. 


Fairies and Food 


i8i 


She began to absorb more than the pleasure in her path. 
She found herself gradually assuming a dual role — that of 
the sportive child-wife, whose follies, carefully controlled, 
amused the man on a holiday, and that of the student, con- 
scious of lost years behind and a stiff examination ahead. 
She learned to babble badinage over the varied objects of 
artistic or historical interest that came her way, while, at 
the same time, she rapidly and unobtrusively conned the 
main points in their construction, or the often complex story 
of their distinction. 

She faced, if not the problem of entire reconstruction, 
that of elaborate alteration, and it was not to be denied 
that, as an individual, she began to assume power and point. 
All the caprices that had lent an air of enchantment to her 
personality were compelled to express themselves. The 
vain, delicately-tinted bubbles, composed of air and ideal- 
ism only, were blown back to the element from which they 
sprang, but the color she preserved as gilding for her 
sounder fancies. And all this revelation of nature surged 
loyally about a single figure, that of the man she loved and 
deceived with such intensity. 

For the first steady background to this human drama she 
had the giant pines and the simple cottage life of the Harz 
Mountains. She was supposed to have chosen this partic- 
ular spot, and she could remember poring over a map, idly 
tracing with a lead pencil what she called the eyebrows of 
Germany.'' 

Harry, leaning over her, had suggested a trip to the Black 
Forest, and, involuntarily, she had cried out : Oh, nothing 
black!" 

Laughing, he had bent closer, guiding the pencil, fondling 
the fingers moving so submissively under his own, and 
together they had chanced upon the Harz. 

Full of fairies and canary birds," he had declared; and 
without discussion, it seemed to her, they had sailed from 
Southampton to Hamburg, en route for this unknown coun- 
try, and mutually conscious that it was what they them- 
selves brought to their environment, and not what they 
took from it, that really signified. 


i 82 


Fairies and Food 


They had lingered in Hamburg for a day or two, in spite 
of the heat, and the absence of all the people of social 
import. These last had flown to the mountains, but their 
deserted homes still stood in brilliant gardens to enchant 
the gaze of the enthusiastic little bride. To row on the 
Alster in the evening; to tease the spoiled swans following 
the boat in hopes of provender; to watch the dimness 
descend like a veil over these scented gardens sloping down 
to the water's edge; to be wrapped in the warm darkness, 
and gradually to be wakened out of one's lethargy by 
the sparkle of point after point of light, until land and lake 
resembled a toy kingdom at festival time, seemed to Gri- 
selda the acme of pleasant existence. 

Hanover, which was their second stopping-place, pleased 
her less, for she missed the water; and Brunswick, where 
they spent twenty-four hours, was positively distasteful. 
The museums wearied her, and the famous old pottery gave 
her no sensation but a desire to hold a trayful and let it 
drop on the stone floor. But in Goslar, where they made 
a last halt, she found much to please and amuse her. 
Here she recognized a charm in antiquity; the quaint 
houses with their strange mottoes served to recreate 
for her the people and the manners of the past, and it 
was with reluctance that she agreed to her husband's desire 
to move on. 

Lauterberg was to be their goal; and dusty, hot, and a 
trifle cross, they arrived at the little hotel to which they 
had been recommended. 

But they had resolved not to lodge at the Kron Prinz.” 
They meant to enjoy the privacy of a cottage on the hill, 
coming down, as was, they learned, the local custom, to 
take the mid-day dinner of the place at the hotel. 

With typical German disinterestedness, their host at the 
supper-table replied to their questions concerning the possi- 
bility of securing such a lodging, with eager interest. He 
called up his equally unmercenary wife, and, after some 
brisk argument, the elegant apartments " of a certain Frau 
Schmidt were advised. 


Fairies and Food 


183 

To Griselda’s delight the landlord vouched that she would 
receive them that same evening, on his recommend, as she 
was in need of lodgers, and always kept her rooms and beds 
aired, in readiness for sudden arrivals. It was arranged 
that supper, as well as dinner, should be partaken of at the 
hotel, and a porter being provided and sent ahead with part 
of their luggage, the pair set off, shortly after nine o’clock, 
to their new abode. 

It was impossible to miss the cottage, for it lay in full 
view, halfway up the long slope of pasture-land stretching 
between the village and the pine-woods, whose scent came 
down to them, pungent and sweet on the night air. A bright 
light burned ingratiatingly in one of its windows, and, 
lingering to allow the porter to get well in front, they made 
a dilatory journey upwards. 

More than once Griselda called a halt, and, leaning on her 
husband’s arm, turned to look back into the valley they were 
leaving. 

‘‘ See,” she said, on one of these occasions, all the lights 
are coming out like glow-worms; soon there will be no 
patches of darkness left. How funny to think that each 
of those little yellow points is a home, happy or unhappy, 
young or old ! ” 

‘‘ We’d better be getting along towards ours,” he remon- 
strated, far too carelessly to please her mood. 

“ You’re not to look up at it in that way, Harry. It isn’t 
a common lamp burning common oil. See — it’s beginning 
to flicker; it’s beginning to wonder what to give us — this 
first home of ours — peace or the sword.” 

‘‘ The sword, you dreaming girl ? What do we want with 
a sword?” 

“ Oh, we don’t want it, but it’s there, in every house. It’s 
in the scabbard at first, but it must flash out some day, for 
a good cause or a bad one. Yes, I’m coming on, but not so 
quickly. We’re to think, as we go, of the past and all its 
mistakes ; we’re to forgive, but not to forget ; and when we 
get to the little door we’re to tap on it, as beggars tap at 
that of a great landowner.” 


Fairies and Food 


184 


And Frau Schmidt will say, ' Come in ! ’ ’’ he said, with 1 
quizzical tenderness. i 

‘‘No, no! Fate, through the mouth of Frau Schmidt, j 
will say, ‘ Come in, Harry and Griselda, children of God’s j 
will and lovers of one another, and take what I am bidden i 
to give you 1 ’ ” | 

Half infected by this gust of passion, and half distrustful j 
of it, he pressed her arm restrainingly within his own. j 
“ It’s getting late, and the porter will be waiting to be | 
paid.” I 

“ You’re so calm,” she said reproachfully; “ oh, don’t say j 
you’ve been in before! Don’t say it’s just a lamp in a cot- j 
tage window ! It must be a mystery to you too ! ” 

“ I might be a widower, by the way you talk. Of course, 
it’s a mystery, Griselda, only I don’t want to exaggerate the 
value of it.” 

She sighed, and let him draw her on and up the last steep 
stretch of incline. 

On the patch of level ground where the tiny dwelling had 
been erected, they found the man with their boxes, arguing 
cheerfully with the landlady. Harry promptly added his 
excellent German to the discussion, but his wife was not 
altogether sorry to note that the other two seemed to have 
a difficulty in understanding it, their dialect being distinctly 
local, and not, Griselda thought, very unlike that of some of 
our English counties. 

In time, however, the porter was induced to carry the 
boxes in (he appeared to have had doubts concerning the 
possibility of getting them through the doorway) ; he was 
paid and dismissed, and the visitors had leisure to examine 
their surroundings. 

The elegance of which the landlord had spoken was 
invisible to their no doubt insular eyes, but the rooms were 
spotlessly clean, and from each small-paned window one 
could look out into an undulating world of fragrant wood- 
land. 

Griselda’s mind was tuned to satisfaction, and it agreed 
to find a virtue even in limit. It was with acclamations of 


Fairies and Food 


185 

enthusiasm that she noted the primitive German custom of 
stitching all the bedclothes into a bag, though familiarity 
with it eventually bred disapproval, if not disgust. 

The rooms, three in number, not counting a minute 
kitchen-sitting-room, were all on the ground floor, beneath 
a couple of attic bedrooms occupied by Frau Schmidt and 
her son, a wood-cutter in the forest above. The smaller of 
the three served Harry as a dressing-room, though his 
landlady seemed puzzled by his demand for it — in fact, 
throughout the visit she continued to mark her disapproval 
of such extravagant ideas on space, by replacing his wash- 
ing-basin and shaving-glass in the sleeping room as regularly 
each morning as he removed them back at night. 

Griselda slept the clock round on this first night in the 
mountains, but she woke to find her husband was going to 
outdo this performance. The room was full of sunshine, 
and, after a cursory examination of the few pieces of 
furniture, whose deficiencies were now so clearly defined, 
she turned her attention to the window. 

It had been furnished with a strip of muslin, wide enough 
to protect the lower of the two panes, but through the upper 
a clear view of the surrounding country could be obtained, 
and, no doubt, nearly as clear a view of herself and her 
sleeping apartment could be enjoyed by any passer-by. 

But a second or two of consternation was all she allowed 
to the conventional strain in her blood. The pines were 
nearly black against the vivid and unflecked blue of the 
sky behind them; lower down, the sun sent channels of 
light here and there into the undergrowth, sowing its dark- 
ness with now a patch of emerald green, now a yellow 
pathway, twisting, like a broken length of ribbon, between 
mystery and mystery. 

At intervals a peasant figure could be seen, threading its 
way through the alternate light and shade, lending an air of 
picturesque movement to the wonderful, rustic picture. 

It was good to feel the vigor, born of long and dream- 
less sleep, inspiring one's limbs again; it was good to find 
the enigmatical little house of the previous night, that had 


i86 


Fairies and Food 


twinkled so portentously, could bend to laughter and music, 
for the birds had not yet succumbed to their mid-summer 
silence, and liquid notes were blended with the monotonous 
song of the grasshoppers. But the great choir invisible ’’ 
was disturbed by the rattle of crockery, and Griselda dis- 
covered that she was abnormally hungry. 

After a second survey of her still unconscious companion, 
she slipped out of bed, and proceeded to make a not very 
satisfactory toilet, as far from the window and the possi- 
bility of a prying glance as the limited space of the room 
allowed. She found a minute can of tepid water outside 
her door, and, with as much ingenuity and as little noise as 
possible, she set to work, distributing its contents over her 
person. Far from satisfied with her ablutionary efforts, but 
too ravenous to delay breakfast any longer, she slipped into 
the passage, followed the appetizing scent of roasting coffee, 
and found herself in the diminutive kitchen. But Frau 
Schmidt directed her by signs to the door of the sitting- 
room, and followed her in less than two minutes with the 
steaming jug. 

She asked a number of questions, which Griselda an- 
swered in dumb show as best she could ; but it was evident 
that the good lady failed to understand the tale of her 
second lodger’s laziness — though she nodded and smiled 
with an air of entire comprehension — and indicated that the 
breakfast was served. 

Left to herself, the visitor embarked cheerfully upon a 
dish of delicious white rolls, which she smothered luxuri- 
ously in butter, and disposed of with entire satisfaction. 
Only when the plate was empty did she turn a scrutinizing 
eye upon the rest of the contents of the table, to discover 
that she had sat down to her first typical German breakfast. 
There was nothing solid, not even an egg. The white rolls 
were supplemented by a block of what she learned later is 
called fein Brot, and a second block of even darker color 
called Pumpernickel, and regarded with national affection 
by the natives of the Fatherland. It was, however, the last 
article of consumption Harry would be likely to approve, 


Fairies and Food 


187 

and hastily she made her way to the kitchen — there being 
apparently no bell in the sitting-room, — carrying the empty 
plate, which she begged by gestures eloquent might be 
refilled. But Frau Schmidt only stared open-mouthed, as 
at some monster of greed. It was plain she had no more 
dainty white rolls, and she was not yet aware that Harry 
had lost his share. In shame and dismay Griselda returned 
to the breakfast table to await the coming of the man she 
had so thoughtlessly despoiled. It was not a propitious 
start to the new life, and her gloomy foreboding that 
Harry would take this first domestic contretemps badly was 
fulfilled. 

He came in as hungry as she had been herself, and he 
looked eagerly round for a bell with which to sound the 
fact that he was ready to face a good square meal. 

There was no bell, and Griselda explained that what 
breakfast there was stood before him. The cafe au lait was 
still hot, and it was customary in Germany to breakfast off 
bread-and-butter. 

His annoyance might have been vented on customs in 
general, and not on her, had he not discovered the frag- 
ments of her last white roll. Explanation brought, not the 
deluge, but an ominous silence. The young man ate his 
unpalatable food with all too obvious distaste; and when 
the landlady appeared to clear away the remnants of the 
feast, she embarked in a long conversation with him. 

Poor Griselda recognized no single word employed, but 
she was convinced that her perfidy was under discussion — 
that Frau Schmidt had heard Harry’s late arrival and 
guessed his grievance, — and she feared that, though the 
two had a mutual difficulty in understanding one another’s 
language, they must be at one inwardly in their conception 
of her conduct. 

Only the unlawful possession of those five white rolls 
prevented her taking refuge from her misery in tears ; but it 
was scarcely fair, she argued, to add dampness to depriva- 
tion, and she retreated to her own room to unpack, thankful 
to hide her face behind the lid of her trunk. When she 


i88 


Fairies and Food 


returned it was to find a change for the better in the 
atmosphere of the sitting-room, and during their morning 
stroll Harry certainly made an efifort to dissipate some of the 
trouble from her face — as big a one, perhaps, as could 
be expected from a man suffering undeniable pangs of 
hunger. 

As the dinner-hour drew near, however, the artificial 
quality in his returning good-humor diminished. He jested 
a little upon the folly of dining at mid-day, but it was with 
scarcely veiled eagerness that he urged her to set out for 
the hotel. 

With half an hour to be filled in, they established them- 
selves in the Cur Garten attached, and amused themselves 
by watching the arrival of other early members for the 
Mittagessen, 

There were stout German papas and mamas, evincing 
inordinate pride in the doings of their lively and distinctly 
disobedient children. There were students, whose self- 
esteem appeared to be regulated by the length and depth of 
the marks of valor cut into their pale and often puffy 
faces. There were bare-armed nursegirls, with jaunty 
streamers of broad ribbon falling from their well-oiled 
plaits of blond hair, exchanging confidences with one 
another whenever their exacting charges left them an idle 
moment. There were maiden ladies, looking with disap- 
proval, with resignation, or occasionally with a pathetic air 
of envy, at the antics of other people's children. There 
were little dogs of mysterious pedigree, displaying exagger- 
ated friendship for, or enmity of, one another. 

The garden was alive with egoism, but, when a gong 
sounded, this notoriously divisional quality of mind took 
everybody for once in the same direction. 

Griselda sipped her plate of soup nervously. For Harry's 
sake, she prayed that the German idea of a dinner should 
not resemble that of a breakfast, and she was speedily reas- 
sured. 

The soup was sweet but not disagreeable; the fish had a 
piquant sauce, making up for its lack of flavor; then 


Fairies and Food 


189 

came a dish of finely chopped macaroni-and-ham, which the 
starving Harry was good enough to approve; chickens fol- 
lowed the ham, served with excellently cooked vegetables, 
and, to Griselda’s delight, little plates of yellow plums; a 
sweet called rothe Griltze succeeded, then biscuits, cheese, 
and butter, and lastly, but not leastly, piles of mountain 
strawberries, atoning amply for any restriction in size by 
their delicacy of flavor. In fact, the meal would have been 
an unqualified success, had it not been for the peculiar 
habits of some of their neighbors. At first it had formed 
a secret bond of amusement between the two to note such 
frank adult appreciation of the pleasures of the table. The 
delight of certainly three out of every five persons, when 
offered a new dish, was only rivaled by their reluctance to 
allow it to move on; but when this unfamiliar tendency 
began to affect the rights of a freeborn and remarkably 
hungry British citizen, the smile changed its character. 
Harry found it distinctly irritating to have the highly intel- 
lectual-looking woman on his left look from him to the dish 
before her, and, all too obviously, employ her powers of 
calculation upon his of consumption; her eye would pass on 
to Griselda, too, the last person upon her side of the table, 
and she would, just as palpably, accord a portion, and a very 
small portion, to her probable needs; the remainder — the 
great majority, one might truly have called it — she pro- 
ceeded to ladle on to her own plate. Until the dessert stage 
was reached, a slight quantity of justice tempered this atti- 
tude, but at sight of the beautiful scarlet fruit, a gleam came 
into her eye, and the hand, reaching out for the spoon, 
trembled. When at length she resigned the dish, the straw- 
berries it contained would have failed to satisfy a sparrow. 
Harry stiffly refused to partake, and Griselda polished them 
off at top-speed, hoping to make her escape before an out- 
burst of hilarity should disgrace her forever in the eyes of 
these weird strangers. 


CHAPTER XIX 


MIST 

A WEEK of sunshine was succeeded by another of rain, 
and for three days the young pair allowed their exercise to 
be limited to a wet scramble down the hillside and back 
again at dinner and at supper time. 

Part of the leisure thrown upon their hands was em- 
ployed by Harry in teaching his companion to play piquet 
and double-dummy bridge. She was a complete stranger to 
cards, save for a long-ago acquaintance with old maid ’’ 
and ‘‘ beggar-my-neighbor ’’ ; but, recognizing a new point 
from which to assail his appreciation, she embarked eagerly 
upon these games of mingled skill and chance. 

It was amusing to outwit his estimate of her capabilities, 
and it was pleasant to angle for, delightful to secure, his 
half-grudged expression of admiration for her keen wits 
and sound memory. 

But after the three days she knew as much as he did, and 
possibly for this reason, possibly for a better one, he sud- 
denly declared himself tired of the card-table. 

Readily she followed him into the wet green woods, lit 
by no gleam of sunshine, and systematically they set to 
work upon the task of climbing all the peaks within reach. 

From each summit they looked down on to melancholy 
cloud masses; they exchanged polite commiserations with 
wayfarers, intrepid as themselves, and returned at eventide 
too hungry to criticize the queer, but not ill-tasting, dishes 
their host at the Kron Prinz provided, and too full of 
mountain air and healthy self-content to argue very seri- 
ously over the fire of pine-logs that Frau Schmidt always 
lit on a chill night. 


190 


Mist 


191 

Griselda would have made a dozen friends in as many 
days had she been left to her own devices, but her husband 
had the national objection to forging any bond, however 
trivial, with the unknown; and though she contrived to 
temper this unsocial spirit to some extent, she was quite 
aware that the ground she tended would never accept freely 
of any cosmopolitan seed. 

But what her gregarious nature lost her sense of humor 
gained. She could always laugh inwardly, and sometimes 
outwardly, when Harry was taken cordial possession of by 
a spectacled professor or a green-hatted artist, whose sim- 
plicity or good faith made him blind to the lack of recip- 
rocal feeling exhibited by the young Englishman. It was 
funniest of all, she thought, when the unwelcome intruder 
on their independence was a woman, usually a schoolmis- 
tress, intent on extracting every atom of recreation possible 
out of her holiday. Her chief trouble was connected with 
her dread of seeing feelings hurt, and it was no light task 
to evade, with politeness and some attention to truth, the 
numerous invitations to join forces and purses with these 
friendly souls about her. 

By dint of ingenuity, and some duplicity, their expedition 
to the Brocken was kept private, and on this occasion 
Griselda was as anxious to be unsociable as her husband. 

The Brocken stands for a good deal of romance, and in 
more minds than the Teutonic. Round this spot, made 
famous by Goethe, by Heine, and by others of lesser fame, 
Griselda’s imagination had hovered ever since her arrival 
in the mountains. She did not want to share her first 
impressions of the place with any ordinary tourist mind. 

The day chosen for this expedition gave promise of being 
fine and clear, though the green land steamed after its late 
bath and the air was chill as well as sweet. 

Nestling in her warm wraps, the girl was glad of silence, 
for her heart was like some full cup at the moment, which 
could hold no further drop of sensation. The day hung 
for long afterwards in her memory. The sound of running 
water — for all the streams were swollen — could repaint it; 


Mist 


192 

a mowing machine under the window of a Scotch house 
could reinvoke the musical song of the grasshoppers, who, 
in this fairy land, seemed to chant the livelong day and 
night. And yet, from a practical point of view, the climax 
had brought disappointment. 

The mountain, in spite of the forecast of experienced 
weather-prophets, lay huddled in mist. Only very scant 
portions of the surrounding country had been visible during 
the long drive upwards, while the summit exposed nothing 
but those familiar masses of rolling vapor, cold as ice 
and impenetrable as the future. 

Griselda could utter, but, strange to say, she could not 
feel, a repulse of adventure. As she stood by Harry's side, 
it seemed to her fancy, inflamed, possibly, by the long spell 
of silent brooding she had been encouraged to indulge in, 
that she received what she had come for in negative fashion, 
and that negations held the soul and affirmations the body 
of great offerings. As she stared fixedly into it, the pallid 
vapor seemed to writhe about the forms of wonderful con- 
tingencies, and the secretive quality in the atmosphere gave 
ever increasing courage to the nervous spirit of intuition. 
Looking back, later, upon the hour and its ghosts, she felt 
convinced that another and a very important development 
of herself had been wrought from that nebulous breeding- 
ground. 

Whether Harry shared with her any of these abstruse 
emotions, she had no opportunity to find out. He was taci- 
turn as herself during the night spent in the little hut on the 
mountains and during the journey home on the following 
day. It was a silence that she felt to be fraught with con- 
tent; but whether this content was with nature or with 
herself, she was not so tactless as to inquire. 

But if this same mighty force of nature is, in her fast- 
nesses, a thing of beauty and noble influence, there are 
ingredients in the force, which, under a microscope, present 
a far from lovely aspect. Griselda looking at the peasant 
children, with eyes growing tender for all forms of imma- 
turity, could wrest little response from them, save an animal 


Mist 


193 

appreciation of her sweets and her German pennies. Pitiful 
and curious, she turned her glance upon the parent force, 
seeking an answer to the indifference, and here she thought 
to discover a marital relationship, callous almost to the 
point of cruelty. Assuredly the peasant women worked as 
continuously and as uncomplainingly as the beasts they em- 
ployed, and the older they grew, the more rigorously — so 
it seemed to this young critic — were they subjected to the 
law of physical endurance. 

The older the woman the bigger the basket on her 
back,” she complained into Harry’s not very sympathetic 
ear. 

Chancing one day upon a flagrant case of masculine 
tyranny, she determined to interfere, urged thereto by his 
satiric bet of four half-crowns to one that she would fail to 
improve the position for a single one of these female galley- 
slaves, as her indignation was wont to term them. 

She spent the greater part of a couple of days pursuing 
one after another, and engaging them in such intercourse as 
eloquent gesture could supply, but they seemed incapable of 
appreciating — even when they contrived to understand — the 
cry of revolt she sounded for them. They only smiled, or 
sighed, or scowled; wiped the perspiration from their hot, 
wrinkled foreheads, and, picking up the heavy baskets she 
had persuaded them to set down, went their wearisome 
way up or down the mountain. 

It only remained to turn her attention to the tyrant him- 
self, as the more intelligent force; and one morning she 
came to inform Harry, with considerable pride, that she had 
actually succeeded in inducing the old farmer with the cross 
red face, in the farm nearest their lodgings, to see the 
cruelty and unfairness of the way he had been treating his 
wife. 

“ I pointed out to him, dear, that his pony (which I could 
see at the moment eating its head off) was the proper 
creature to carry all those loads of hay from his field to 
the out-house. It took a long time to explain what I meant, 
but in the end he understood. And he wasn’t angry a bit. 


Mist 


194 

He looked pleased and grateful to me for interfering, and 
he nodded quite pleasantly, and promised me, by gestures, 
you know, that he’d do what I asked. It just shows that 
it’s worth while to take trouble, even with a forlorn cause.” 

‘‘ I’m afraid the pony won’t bless you,” Harry was unkind 
enough to reply ; and her face fell. 

It oughtn’t to be allowed to idle all day,” she said, but 
with a decrease of enthusiasm. 

'' Oh, it’s not been idle,” he further assured her ; it’s 
only knocked off work a quarter of an hour ago. It’s been 
carting gravel since nine o’clock this morning. I think the 
old gentleman’s filling up a hole in his estate with public 
soil.” 

‘‘ Oh dear ! I didn’t bargain for the pony being over- 
worked ! ” Griselda moaned. ‘‘ However, I suppose it’s 
better than wearing the poor old woman out.” 

Exhausted by her endeavors to ameliorate the condition 
of the peasants, she took a prolonged afternoon nap, and 
woke at about half-past four to sounds which, at first, she 
took for the agreeable clatter of tea-things. They resolved 
themselves into the tones of human voices. Harry was 
being interviewed beneath her window, by a gentleman with 
the accent of the country in its most pronounced form. It 
was evident that there was misunderstanding, and she 
jumped up hastily, smoothed her hair, and hurried out to 
play the part of interpreter in dumb show — a role which 
she was beginning to fancy herself. 

She found the ugly farmer and his tired pony, which had 
plainly undergone an unusual course of grooming, drawn 
up in front of her husband. 

What does he want ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I’m not quite sure, but I think he wants me to buy the 
pony.” 

The man turned eagerly to his old acquaintance, and 
began what certainly did seem to be an epitome of the 
animal’s virtues. 

Buy the pony ! ” she repeated blankly. Why, what 
could we do with it ? ” 


Mist 


195 

‘‘ It’s lean enough for a racer,” Harry commented ; but 
she frowned down the levity. 

I can’t think what he means. He certainly promised 
me this morning that it should do all his wife’s work. I 
couldn’t be mistaken about that.” 

No, you weren’t. It has done all her work; I’ve been 
watching it the whole afternoon. Now there’s nothing for 
it to do, and he thinks he’d like to dispense with the cost of 
its maintenance. He wants to sell it to the kind lady who 
took such a fancy to it.” 

‘‘ But there are loads and loads more gravel to be carted,” 
Griselda explained, in complete mystification. “ I went to 
look as we came back from dinner. It will take days to fill 
that hole of his.” 

‘‘ I’m afraid it will take even longer,” Harry answered, 
his eyes on the far right, and a peculiar expression in them. 

The man appeared to be waiting the result of this appar- 
ent conference with unimpaired cheerfulness. He brushed 
the pony’s ragged mane, then looked expectantly from one 
face to the other. He supposed it would be the question of 
price they were arguing about, and he felt comfortably 
certain that, whatever they offered, the sum would be well 
in advance of the creature’s value, considering age, ail- 
ments, and peculiarities of temper, with which he was only 
too well acquainted. 

Harry took pity on his wife’s perplexity, and, touching 
her arm, nodded her to look where he was looking. 

On the sun-baked patch of steep hillside, a figure was 
distinctly discernible. It was a female figure, and it moved 
slowly ; there was a basket, as usual, on the bent back, but 
no mound of light green grass rose from out of it. As the 
meaning of the old farmer’s attitude flashed into her. con- 
sciousness, Griselda made a step in his direction; and so 
fierce and uncontrolled was the expression on her eloquent 
face, that, involuntarily, the fellow recoiled, and, as invol- 
untarily, Harry rose and stepped between them. 

‘‘ Don’t make a fuss,” he said quickly, it won’t do any 
good. He didn’t understand. He thought you were point- 


Mist 


196 

ing out to him the wastefulness of keeping cattle when a 
wife was there to do the rough work. No, don’t cry; he 
won’t understand that either. Go indoors and keep the tea 
hot, and I’ll undertake to explain to him the nature of his 
mistake.” 

She looked uncertainly from one man to the other, then 
a watery smile came to her lips. 

Mind you put the poor little beast back into the field, 
and — ^and I’d like you to put the poor little old woman 
straight into bed, but I suppose it wouldn’t be proper. 
Don’t make a muddle of it as I did. Make him wish he’d 
never been born,” she added with fervency, as she turned 
to go into the house. 

The farmer was puzzled to find himself accompanying 
the gentleman in the direction of his own homestead, but 
he concluded, in his still optimistic mind, that it was prob- 
ably a question of a little harness, and he mused pleasantly 
on the amount he could ask for this addition. As they 
turned in at the broken gate, the woman appeared, with 
her heavy burden of soil ; and the fury and astonishment of 
the old reprobate exceeded description, when the tall 
stranger crossed the yard, relieved her of the basket, tipped 
its contents into the hole, and in less than a second had 
dexterously fastened it to his own back. Nor was this the 
end of the indignity, for, picking up a sharply pointed pick 
lying within reach, he proceeded to prod the farmer uphill 
with it, at a pace to which his idle limbs had long been 
unaccustomed. 

For over an hour he kept the wretch at work, compensated 
for his own exertions by the sight of the pony and his 
wornout mistress lying contentedly beneath the shadow of 
the one tree the farm contained. He had his doubts, of 
course, as to the ultimate gain these objects of his pity 
might be expected to reap from the illegal style of inter- 
ference, and, when he finally released his victim, he could 
only shake an eloquent fist an inch from the man’s red 
nose, and trust that a wholesome fear would keep cupidity, 
in future, from getting quite so far out of bounds. 


Griselda received him with all the honor of conquest, 
though she had the effrontery to demand the four half- 
crowns, or, rather, their German equivalent, to present to 
her protegee. 

It was certainly observable that during the rest of their 
stay in these parts, both the woman and the pony were per- 
mitted to take an afternoon siesta, in full view of the occu- 
pants of the cottage, but their champions did not remain 
very long in the neighborhood. 

Time had appeared to fly in this rustic corner of the 
globe, and it was with an air of wakening suddenly to life 
that Griselda looked up one day from an English letter and 
asked the day of the month. 

‘‘ The twelfth,’’ said Harry, so promptly as first to startle, 
then to trouble her. 

Tears actually rose to her eyes as she looked at him and 
at that rare flush rising to his cheek. It hurt her pride to 
realize that for some time his thoughts and hopes must 
have been flowing another way than her own. It was not 
easy for a female mind, as inexperienced in social habits 
as hers, to grasp all that the twelfth means to a sportsman, 
and more especially one who can enjoy, for the first time 
in his life, the flavor of proprietorship amongst the 
birds. 

‘‘ Are you vexed with me for not forgetting ? ” he said 
remorsefully, but she shook her head. 

“ No; I’m vexed with myself for not remembering. But 
it isn’t too late. You’ll only miss a few days.” 

“ I’m not in such a hurry as all that,” he conceded, with 
qualified sincerity. After all, I can shoot every autumn, 
but I can’t honeymoon so often.” 

“ A honeymoon isn’t a time ; it’s a feeling, Harry. One 
goes back on a wish, not on a train. You’ve gone already, 
and I was a fool to get left behind. No; I’m not cross 
or unhappy; see. I’m smiling. I love this little home of 
ours, but I shall love the other too. Now you’re to describe 
it for me. You’ve told me next to nothing. Only that it 
has been done up, in welcome to me,” 


Mist 


198 

Charmed by this swift change of mood, added to practi- 
cal concession, he embarked eagerly on a description of his 
house. 

‘‘ You’ll like the drawing-room, Griselda. White walls 
and a green carpet, with the skin of a big polar bear before 
the fire-place. The pictures are water-colors — sea- and 
landscapes, and rather excellent in their way. Arthur 
bought them just before the artist came into fashion.” 

And the dining-room ? ” she inquired further. 

A capital contrast. When you want to have the blues 
comfortably, you’ll retire into it. It’s old ; we haven’t 
touched it — oak paneling, family portraits, some good 
bronzes.” 

And the boudoir ? ” 

That’s old too, but it’s cheery antiquity. The walls are 
pink — a sort of brocade, a golden wedding present to my 
grandmother. They ought to be black by this time but 
they’re not. The place is so clean, so free from chimneys 
and manufactures. There are shelves of books in white 
cupboards with glass doors, and cabinets of china, collected 
by that same grandmother and added to by my mother. 
There’s a sofa so downy you could bury yourself in, and a 
view right over the garden and the paddock. It looks 
south, out of a big bay window, and you get the sun practi- 
cally all day. It’s your very own room ; the rest of us only 
come in on an invitation.” 

‘‘ But I shouldn’t be happy by myself. I’m terribly 
sociable. Haven’t you discovered that? ” 

Then you’ll want school-friends, I take it?” 

She made no reply, but she looked at him in a troubled 
fashion. 

‘‘They were in the bond,” he said reassuringly; “I’m 
quite resigned to them. In fact, they’ll be useful to amuse 
you while I shoot. I’ve sent one or two fellows down with 
their guns already, though I didn’t mean to join them so 
soon.” 

Still she made no reply, only looked away, with an in- 
crease of distress. 


Mist 


199 

You told me it wasn’t only for yourself you wanted 
that house and horse, Griselda,” he began curiously. 

‘‘No; it wasn’t then,” she whispered; ''but, Harry, I’m 
more selfish than I used to be. I want these things to my- 
self just a little longer; that is, I want you. Oh, I don’t 
mean the men ! They won’t bother me ; they’ll be engrossed 
in their sport. But I don’t want any of the girls about — 
not yet, I mean. They’re children still ; they’ll want to talk 
about all the things I’ve outgrown. They’ll expect me to 
be interested in all the gossip of the school, and I shan’t 
be. I’m not the baby-girl who went to stay at Mrs. Faw- 
cett’s. I’m yours — only yours, Harry. Say you believe it.” 

Plainly she was asking him for more than a common 
word of reassurance and sympathy, but it was equally plain 
that he could not bring himself to give it. These excesses 
of feeling always roused in him a degree of obstinacy, and, 
quickly, she curbed her gust of passion and smiled at him. 

" No. Don’t say anything. It isn’t time. On our 
golden wedding-day I’ll ask you, not for wall-hangings of 
pink brocade, but for compliments.” 

Fearful lest he should frown at this second lapse into 
sentiment, she leaned forward and pressed her round, soft 
cheek to his. 

" And I’m going away to pack. You couldn’t scowl at 
a wife who gave up, of her own free will, the last week of 
her honeymoon. You shall read the railway-guide — it’s on 
the table at your elbow — for we start for home the day 
after to-morrow.” 

During those two remaining nights of forest life, she 
scarcely slept. The stars above that narrow strip of muslin 
magnetized her glance. At first there was fear and there 
was enmity in her look upward. Those winking and unwink- 
ing points of light were so cold and bright and knowing; 
they spoke so arbitrarily of establishment, of the survival 
of the fittest. They gave light to the earth, but they gave 
no warmth. It was patience, passivity, pitiless tenacity 
that set them high and unassailable, that linked them with 
the undying forces of the universe. But by slow degrees, 


200 


Mist 


like a precocious child discovering odd flaws in the dogmatic 
reasoning of an elder, defiance crept into her blood. The 
warmth of her own heart, of her own cause, had pene- 
trated those layers of nervous humility. Almost she 
laughed, so sweet and so ridiculous was the thought of 
standing up to those grim gods of experience, of setting 
against their harsh doctrines the kindly, human story in- 
flaming her veins. And, presently, the defiance found 
phrases, a consistent argument, strong in its very sim- 
plicity. Man belongs to the law ; but law belongs to nature, 
and to nature, in her turn, belong the countless antics that 
relieve the great, exacting, main movements of life. The 
lamb gambols and the bird sings with the same eternal per- 
sistence as marks the grave issues that make for enlighten- 
ment, and the child, crying in the night, whether for bread 
or for the stone, is as integral a part in the scheme of crea- 
tion and evolution as any other expression of vitality. She 
was content to call her cause a claim to conquest by sur- 
render, content to class it with the frailer things that may 
not stand alone ; she was content to wait for the answer to 
that premature demand for complete love and understand- 
ing, convinced that the good seed had been sown and would 
burst in due season. She knew that he felt, though he 
would not own, that change in her from reckless girl to 
loyal woman; she knew that she had compelled him to 
question, more than once, what he himself had to offer to a 
temperament more subtle than he had expected, or, possibly, 
had desired, to companion. Lastly, she knew — and the con- 
soling thought eventually lulled her to sleep — that on the 
dark memory of that debt in the past had been founded a 
relation that chance and her youth and her hot blood would 
never have established of themselves. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE MAN WITH THE SCAR 

In November the two brides of the year came into con- 
tact, though only for an hour or so. 

Griselda had been brought to London, nominally to buy 
warm clothes, but, in reality, to satisfy a latent fear in her 
husband’s mind lest the monotony of the autumn months 
should affect that unruffled air of serenity he had found so 
agreeable. 

I He had the cautious man’s predilection for circumventing 
a possible, rather than battling with an established, ill, and 
she was by no means averse to the idea of a change of scene 
at this particular time. 

If she shut her eyes in these days, it was to see visions of 
the old doll’s house at The Court; to find herself replaying 
the games of long ago with a new and strange zest. The 
dead leaves, strewing the walks of her garden, crackled 
another tale than that of decay ; she saw them green again, 
restored to the patient trees, in whose inky stems the sap 
1 for their nourishment was slowly forming. She had ‘‘ the 
sound mind in the sound body ” that reduces the sum of 
penalties demanded by nature for her great prizes, and she 
had — or thought she had — in addition, a more than com- 
mon need for this coming disturber of the dual life. He 
was to tell that story of duplicity she had never brought 
herself to confess to the husband to whom she was, in spite 
of such close companionship, still so great, though so dear, 
a stranger. The boy — for he was always masculine to her 
expectant imagination — ^was to reveal everything in the con- 
doning light of his mere creation. It seemed to her that 
controversy or ill-will would never dare to breathe the 
divine atmosphere of the future. It puzzled and it troubled 


202 


The Man with the Scar 


her at times to find, occasionally, a morose or an irritable 
mood in this husband for whom fortune held so mysterious 
and beautiful a gift, but she was too quick with optimistic 
feeling to harbor any very serious germs of doubt or de- 
pression, and she was far from guessing the root of these 
lapses from cordiality. 

The fact was, Harry was feeling, for the second time, the 
pinch of a need to calculate. It was a vastly different pinch 
to the original one, but it evoked disagreeable memories. It 
had been something of a shock to discover that economy 
belonged more decorously, but almost as arbitrarily, to the 
new condition as to the old. This was in part owing to that 
irrepressible demand in his blood for monarchy. He liked 
to scatter largesse among these dependents on his interest 
or his bounty, and, when Annie's allowance had been de- 
ducted from the proceeds of the estate, when a couple of 
tenants' cottages had been practically rebuilt, in response 
to importunity rather than necessity, the young landowner 
found himself inconvenienced occasionally by the sudden 
demand for money. 

But it must not be supposed that he was a consistent 
damper to good spirits. On the contrary, impatience was 
the exception, not the rule. He made no objection to Gri- 
selda's request that Lady Southern should join them in 
London, where she was engaged in purchasing a trousseau, 
her marriage having been postponed until December, owing 
to a death in the Colonel's family. 

Mother and daughter had not met since the latter's 
wedding, and Harry was aware, through a sympathetic in- 
stinct, that to the younger woman there had come a new 
interpretation of the term motherhood," and no suspicion 
of neglect or double-dealing in the past could quite rob her 
of the notion that her baby was to gulf all forms of separa- 
tion, however deeply imbedded in selfishness. 

It was equally obvious to him that his mother-in-law's 
pleasant chatter and inquiries were so much surface talk, 
but he was glad to note that Griselda's shrewdness was for 
once at fault — that she listened with trustful and flattering 


The Man with the Scar 203 

attention to the carelessly proffered advice. Lady South- 
ern was completely engrossed in the purchase of a magnifi- 
cent wardrobe, and it was typical of the ways of mother 
and daughter that no recollection of the very meager 
trousseau, chosen but a few months back, should trouble the 
memory of either. 

The meeting with Alva was the result of chance. 

Mrs. Dorset, driving in the Park in a hired victoria, saw 
her old acquaintance on foot and alone, running the gaunt- 
let of public admiration with her familiar air of regal 
aloofness. Griselda contrived to attract her attention, and, 
in the end, to persuade her to return and lunch at the 
Metropole with her. 

Alva had looked into the far distance, presumably in 
search of an excuse, but she had failed to find one. She 
was in town to interview her dentist, it transpired, but, not 
having supplied herself with an appointment, she had been 
compelled to accept an afternoon one. She finally agreed 
to spend an hour or so with her friend, and was driven 
away in triumph. But the exultant feelings did not last 
long. It was so plain, after a few minutes devoted to pre- 
liminary courtesies, that a peculiar barrier was rising be- 
tween the two. It certainly did not emanate from Griselda, 
though she grew acutely conscious of it by slow but sure 
degrees. 

Before very long there was almost as much fear as ad- 
miration in the glance she sent covertly out, whenever 
Alva’s brown eyes wandered away into the cheerful bustle 
of Piccadilly on this bright November afternoon. An in- 
stinct told her that this gracious avoidance of intimacy 
covered some mysterious movement of the mind, and that 
the absent sweetness on this fair face had another trans- 
lation than would be given by the casual observer. 

Possibly this suspicion was born of the other’s attitude 
towards the secret, divulged with such artless pride and 
such confiding promptitude ; possibly the initial mother read 
into those too lightly, too prettily worded congratulations 
an unnatural and alarming refusal to acknowledge the 


204 


The Man with the Scar 


divinity of nature. Arrived at the hotel, it was certain, 
at all events, that to Alva each lovely garment displayed 
spelled no more than elegance of stitching or design, while 
her gracious words of approval, like her gracious self, left 
no inch of space on which to erect a protest. Testing other 
ground in her pursuit of this elusive quarry, Griselda 
learned that The Court was looking lovely in its autumn 
coat; that the neighbors were as amiable, as hospitable, as 
ordinary as was to be expected; that Peter was quite 
ridiculously busy with meetings and deputations and 
village libraries and what not, and that Alva herself was 
luxuriously idle and completely satisfied with her state. 

There was no flaw to be detected in the armor of this 
complacent avowal, and yet, against logic, the doubt in the 
questioner’s mind seemed actually to feed upon this repulse 
of curiosity. She became conscious of an increase, in- 
stead of a decrease, of anxiety, and, after a while, she even 
began to suspect that her companion was aware of her 
peculiar distress, and took a furtive pleasure in feeding it. 
It was, eventually, as though some shrouded form stood 
between the two, and the languid mistress of the occasion 
dared her nervous friend to give it a name. 

Yes,” her smile appeared to say, your instinct is right; 
I am something more than the wife of your cousin or the 
mistress of your old home. I am not afraid to be chris- 
tened, but you are afraid to christen.” 

Griselda tried to reassure herself by explaining the 
enigma in a practical fashion. She called this train of 
sinister thoughts the emanations from a sensitive con- 
science; but she was relieved when her mother’s return 
altered the tone of the conversation, reducing it to a very 
mundane and sartorial level. 

When the visitor had gone, she stitched a little, laughed 
a little at Lady Southern’s droll recital of the delinquencies 
of various dressmakers and milliners, and soon found her 
equanimity restored. 

She went up, presently, to her bedroom, to discuss with 
Joanna what she should wear that same evening at the 


The Man with the Scar 


205 

theater. Joanna was a buxom country girl, enjoying her 
jaunt to the gay metropolis almost as much as her mistress. 
She was by no means an ideal maid, but Griselda was not 
fastidious on the subject of hair-dressing, and, indeed, 
simplicity suited her curly locks far better than elabora- 
tion. And then Joanna was so strong and so willing, mak- 
ing up in good temper what she lacked in French polish. 

But her round, rosy face looked a trifle worried this after- 
noon, and she was lingering in her mistress’ bedroom, ap- 
parently with the desire for an interview. 

Is anything the matter ? ” Griselda inquired ; and the 
girl looked grateful for the opening provided. 

It’s about Jim, ma’am.” 

'' Oh, dear ! I might have guessed a ‘ Jim ’ would turn 
up to spoil all my plans. You’re engaged, of course; and 
I did so want you for baby’s nurse! You’re just the sort 
he’ll be sure to like, Joanna.” 

I’ve been engaged since before I come to you, ma’am, 

but we aren’t in no ’urry, Jim and I, only — only ” She 

stopped, and began twisting the strings of her apron round 
her fingers. 

‘‘Only what?” 

“ Well, ma’am, Jim wants to better ’isself. ’E’s bin 
hostler down in Sussex, and ’e come up to town to look 
for a better place, and — to see me. ’E come jest as you and 
the master were drivin’ off to the theater, and I pointed you 
both out, and — and — I couldn’t but tell ’im there was talk 
of Craddock leaving our stables — and we didn’t see, ma’am, 
but that you might be willing to take Jim on,” she finished 
wistfully. 

A hostler from Sussex roused no more than a vaguely 
disturbing memory in Griselda’s mind; it was just strong 
enough to prompt an unsympathetic answer to this ap- 
peal. 

“ Craddock only gets a pound a week ; he’s not head 
man, you know. I doubt if Jim will find any bettering in 
such a post.” 

“ Oh, I told ’im the wages, ma’am, and ’e was satisfied. 


2o6 


The Man with the Scar 


It’s more by five shilling than ’e’s bin getting — and then — 
there’s me, ma’am.” 

But I’ve nothing to do with the stables/’ her mistress 
further objected. 

'' No, ma’am, but you’ve to do with me, and I’ve to do 
with Jim, and Jim’s to do with stables,” the girl argued, 
and Griselda had to laugh. 

'' All right, I’ll put in a good word to Mr. Dorset, but you 
mustn’t be too sure he’ll listen to it.” 

'' Oh, but Jim wants perticular to speak to you, ma’am.” 

‘‘ What in the world about ? ” 

His qualli — qualli — fications,” the girl told her, evi- 
dently repeating the word with difficulty and pride. 

He must tell them to Mr. Dorset.” 

‘‘No, ma’am, please ma’am; ’e says ’e must tell them 
to you first.” 

Again that sense of disquietude, too faint to be called 
fear, ran through the listener’s mind, and she answered 
sharply : 

“ But that’s ridiculous ; I shouldn’t know if he suited the 
place or not.” 

Joanna resorted to a new method of argument. 

“ No, ma’am,” she said meekly and mournfully; and she 
put the corner of her black sleeve to one soft, wet, brown 
eye. “ I’ll tell ’im it isn’t no use. It isn’t right to bother 
you — not well and all — with our troubles. And it isn’t no 
use to go to the master, for it’s certain ’e won’t take to 
Jim without your good words. Strangers don’t never take 
to Jim — men, that’s to say, ma’am. Women takes to ’im 
fast enough, and I’ll jest ’ave to lose ’im, as many’s lost 
their lovers before and will again.” And this outburst of 
philosophy ended in sobs. 

“ Oh, Joanna ! of course I’ll have to interfere if you 
care all that much; but if your Jim isn’t likely to be faith- 
ful, why — why ” She paused, fearful of hurting the 

girl’s feelings. 

“ I’d like ’im under my own eye, ma’am.” 

“ But don’t you trust him ? ” 


The Man with the Scar 207 

‘‘ Oh, yes,’' the girl assured her, of course I trust ’im, 
but it’s better to ’ave ’em near you, trust them ever so.” 

‘‘ I see ; well, cheer up, and tell me when and where I 
can see him.” 

Joanna cheered up without an instant’s delay. 

This very minute, ma’am, if you’re so minded. Jim’s 
downstairs waiting to see if you’d agree to speak to ’im. 
Would you let ’im come up to your private sitting-room?” 

But Lady Southern’s there.” 

‘‘ It wouldn’t matter to ’er, ma’am, one way or another ; 
and then you could speak to the master right away when 
’e gets in.” 

Joanna was evidently an advocate for striking the iron 
when hot, and Griselda caved in before this spirit of deter- 
mination. 

‘‘ Well, fetch him up, and I’ll see what he looks like any- 
way.” 

Lady Southern was writing letters when her daughter 
joined her, and she made no objection to the hostler’s in- 
trusion. 

When he entered, Griselda had her face to the window. 
She listened to the rough voice bidding her good after- 
noon ” with a peculiar thrill of the nerves. It touched no 
chord of memory, and when she turned to look into the 
man’s face, that too was, for the first moment, reassuringly 
unfamiliar. Then, as his eyes met hers, an increase of color 
rose to his cheek, and, retreating again, left visible the 
mark of the whip. Wind and weather had pretty nearly 
obliterated it, but it showed, apparently, in moments of 
excitement, and this was such a one. As she stared stead- 
ily at this single enemy, there ran through her mind a full 
consciousness of the danger threatening her peace. In the 
fellow’s expression she read recognition and animosity; 
in the message delivered so unsuspiciously by Joanna, she 
was now enabled to read a threat. Nothing but the pos- 
session of her lost letter, and some sort of comprehension 
of its significance, could explain the man’s attitude. 

‘‘ I’ll tell my husband what you have said,” she found 


2o8 


The Man with the Scar 


herself promising, with quite a creditable air of indifferent 
patronage. It’s still doubtful if our groom leaves us, 
and it’s also doubtful if Mr. Dorset will want to have a 
man from the South. He likes to employ Scotchmen off 
the estate, whenever possible.” 

‘‘ I suppose I may count on your good word, ma’am ? ” 

“ Well, you see. I’ve nothing to do with the stables, as 
I’ve explained to Joanna.” 

He’ll take me on, ma’am, if you wish it,” the man said ; 
and Lady Southern, who had looked up to listen to the 
argument, murmured a word that sounded like ‘‘ imperti- 
nence.” 

Jim turned to look at her, and back again at her daugh- 
ter, and now his expression said very plainly : She’s talk- 
ing off the book, isn’t she?” 

But Griselda had picked up a little courage with her in- 
dignation. 

‘'You’re taking a very dictatorial and unsuitable tone,” 
she said firmly. “ For Joanna’s sake. I’ve promised to say 
what I can in your favor, and there, of course, the matter 
ends.” 

“ Yes, ma’am, for the present,” the man answered imper- 
turbably, but with restored civility. He turned to leave 
the room, with a polite salute for each lady in turn. 

As the door snapped behind his back, Griselda dropped 
her head upon her hands, and Lady Southern hurried to 
her side in some astonishment. 

“You’re ill, dear?” 

“ No, mama, only wretched.” 

“As if that lout’s impertinence mattered ! ” said the 
elder lady scornfully. 

“ But it does matter.” Griselda raised a white face to 
make this astonishing statement. 

“ You’re talking Greek,” Lady Southern said irritably. 

“ Mama, do you remember my telling you about An- 
thony — and the kiss ? ” 

“To be sure; and you will remember I told you how 
little they signified, dear.” 


The Man with the Scar 209 

‘'You were wrong. They did signify — at least, they’re 
going to.” 

“What? Some one has made mischief? You were 
never silly enough to confide in anybody but myself, were 
you?” 

“ I wrote a letter,” said the girl dully. “ I wrote at 
night, with the moon looking in at the window. It was a 
mad letter. I was playing with words and ideas I knew 
nothing about. I talked about renunciation, because I 
never had a chance before, and it was such a fine big 
word. Mama, you can’t believe the nonsense I put in that 
letter. Anybody who really understood me would laugh. 
Anthony laughed himself. But Harry doesn’t understand 
me; I haven’t dared to let him try. When Harry reads it 
there will be a tragedy.” 

“ We don’t have tragedies in this century,” her mother 
objected. 

“ Well, we have comedies with very unpleasant situations 
in them.” 

“ But why should Harry read this letter ? And what has 
all this to do with the man who wanted a situation ? ” 

“ You may well ask, mama. But it’s the spirit of mis- 
fortune or the spirit of fair-play that gives the answer ; I’m 
sure I don’t know which. I only know that I’m fright- 
ened and miserable. That man saw me the day I rode 
with Anthony. He made me angry, or rather, I was angry 
to begin with and he made me worse; I struck him with 
my riding-whip. The mark is still there, and so is his 
desire for revenge. He hates me, and I’m almost sure 
that fatal letter is in his pocket. He wouldn’t have dared 
to speak as he did without it.” 

Lady Southern showed a degree of perturbation. 

“ Try and remember exactly what you wrote, and repeat 
it to me.” 

“ The words have all gone, mama, and no wonder, seeing 
that they only came out of a child’s fancy. But the sense 
I can remember. I was remorseful. Anthony was un- 
principled, the villain of melodrama, you know, and Harry 


210 


The Man with the Scar 


was outraged. Think, just think of his reading such a 
story, at the instigation of such a man, and there’s no alter- 
native, except to tell him myself. You told me I would 
be able to tell him anything in a little while; but it isn’t 
true.” 

Now, Griselda, don’t be childish. Tell me how this 
fellow got possession of a letter sent to Mr. Glover.” 

‘‘ He dropped it on the road — Anthony, I mean — out of 
the pocket of his shooting-coat. He went back to hunt, 
and he only found this man, lighting his pipe by the side 
of the road. He didn’t dare to ask questions, for fear of 
rousing curiosity, for we both knew he would welcome a 
chance to hurt me.” 

“ But, my dear girl, such a document as you describe 
would be absolutely unintelligible to a man of that class, 
even if he recognized the names on it.” 

‘‘ That’s what Anthony said, mama, but not very confi- 
dently. You see, he had a very big grievance ; he wouldn’t 
take money for it. He might have guessed by Anthony’s 
silence, too, that there was value in the letter. He may 
have taken it to some one to translate, and there would be 
plenty of people to find a horrid, untrue story of intimacy, 
at least, in it. I suppose I’m superstitious, because Fve 
always had, at the far back of my mind, the fear that this 
would happen. I’ve always meant to tell and never had the 
courage. I thought I was to have my own special pleader, 
and — and — he hasn’t come in time. It isn’t fair ! But yes, 
it is ; it’s pitilessly fair. One has to pay for everything.” 

Miserably she looked up, not into her mother’s deliberat- 
ing face, but into the life ahead, forcing her brain to 
enumerate the points for and against acquittal, should she 
be called on to face, thus unprepared, the court of judg- 
ment so long evaded, and pessimism ruled her emotions 
for the time. Harry would judge the wife he had edu- 
cated, not the girl-sinner of the spring. He would forget 
that it was he who had laid upon her a restraining finger, 
damming the natural stream of candor, molding her to 
that favorite image of his profane taste ; leaving her thus. 


The Man with the Scar 


21 I 


in her hour of need, a hopeless and artificial force at the 
mercy of a vindictive natural one. There were excuses, 
hundreds of them, surging about her memory, but he 
would never listen; he never had listened to anything but 
the echo of his own benevolently arbitrary voice. 

Lady Southern spoke peremptorily. 

This is all very tiresome and unfortunate, but, as I 
said before, it isn't tragedy. Of course you want to choose 
your own time for making a little confession of this sort, 
and of course the time is not far off when you can do it 
safely and comfortably enough." 

The lady had no desire to have her visit spoiled by a 
domestic scene, and she set her wits to work on averting 
the unpleasant possibility. 

You must engage that fellow, as groom, gardener, odd- 
man — anything, to keep him quiet for the time being. You 
must play your interest in Joanna for all it’s worth." 

Griselda shook a despondent head. 

Harry wouldn’t understand what I was driving at." 

But don’t you see that you can bewilder him as much 
as you please just now? Be illogical, be inconsistent, per- 
verse, hysterical. If he can’t find the answer we require to 
the riddle, he’ll have to turn to me and I shall trans- 
late." 

Griselda stared at the speaker in a sort of puzzled horror. 

What answer to what riddle, mama? You’re always so 
mysterious." 

‘‘ And you’re so obtuse on certain points, child. Don’t 
you know that, just now, you’ve a right to vagaries of 
mind? " 

No. I think — that is, I thought — that I’d less right 
than usual." 

For the moment Lady Southern was silenced, then she 
broke out again. 

‘‘You’re being absurd, Griselda. Your whole future 
comfort is at stake now. If you want to play the slave for 
the rest of your days, you are going the right way to work. 
A man’s readiness to take is always in advance of a 


212 


The Man with the Scar 


woman’s readiness to give. Harry will be astonished if 
you make a fuss — well, that proves pretty conclusively 
what sort of a basis your married life has been founded 
on. He ought to be astonished, dismayed even; he’s far 
too sure of your amiability, far too sure of your moods. 
On the whole. I’m not sorry for this opportunity to show 
him you are not entirely under his thumb.” 

Griselda looked quite incapable of exhibiting independ- 
ence. 

We’re so happy as we are,” she murmured weakly. 

Oh, in that case, my dear, surely this scene you’re 
treating me to is rather farcical.” 

‘‘Tell him!” said Griselda, softly and absently to her- 
self, not to her bridling companion. “ Tell him now, while 
I’m weak and nervous ! I can’t — I daren’t. It will be easy 
by-and-by, when the miracle has happened. I hate your 
way, mama. I hated it before, but I went, and I shall 
have to go again, because I care so much. I’m to be cross 
to-night — cross and unreasonable and obstinate, and, if 
necessary, hysterical ; and if he doesn’t understand — and, 
poor boy! I don’t think he will — you will step in and 
translate. It’s another plot between us. It seems to me, 
mama, plots are the only things that bind you and me to- 
gether. There, that’s his whistle, and it means, with him, 
a very specially good humor. Providence on our side, on 
the side of intrigue and meanness; what an abominable 
moral ! Don’t go away, mama. You’re my accomplice. 
Without you the plot would fall to pieces. Oh dear! the 
hysteria is coming too soon! I want to laugh and cry 
already.” 

“ Joanna is betrothed to the most unpleasant looking 
person it’s ever been my lot to look upon,” the new-comer 
remarked, as he entered the room. “ I chanced upon their 
farewell, and Joanna bustled after me to explain the gentle- 
man and to invite my sympathy. She spoke of yours ” — 
he looked quizzically at Griselda — “ as already enlisted on 
their behalf; but, if you’ve seen the fellow, I’m afraid 
you’ve been sacrificing truth to politeness. Now what have 


The Man with the Scar 


213 

I they been asking you to promise and vow in my name? 
Come, own up/' 

Of the scene that followed she never retained any very 
I clear impressions. Like a nightmare the memory of it 
hung about her — a medley of sharp or caustic utterances, 
a brief, but horrid battle of words, of opposing wills. She 
could remember that, at an early stage, hysteria had been 
called in, and Harry had not turned to his mother-in-law 
for translation. His antagonism had decamped promptly, 

I far too promptly to please her better nature, and she had 
found more than adequate punishment for her duplicity in 
the changed quality of his glance. 

' Oh," it had said, clearly enough to her sensitive and 
remorseful fancy, ‘‘ I can yield with honor, with dignity, 
to the ordinary wife — to the embryo mother; but you must 
forgive me in that I was slow to class you with the common 
— the unbalanced herd. There was much to forget, some- 
thing to reconstruct. Yield your common-sense for the 
doubtful benefit of your maid; take that lout for a groom, 
but take, at the same time, my new and lesser estimate of 
yourself." 

She went to no theater that night. She pleaded head- 
ache, though heartache would have expressed her ailment 
more truly, and she lay on her sofa, having persuaded the 
other two, not without difficulty, to leave her, and tried to 
gauge the amount of bitterness concealed in her victory, 
tried to calculate how far Joanna's lover would be likely 
to carry his twin desires for vengeance and advancement. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF EARLY RISING 

Alva was alone in the railway carriage bearing her back 
to her home, for Peter had been compelled to remain for 
the night in London on business connected with his estate. 

She passed at express speed through tracts of land, clad 
in a gorgeous death-robe of russet tints, and she saw the 
beauty and not the corruption in the wonderful panoramic 
picture spread before her. Her eye, like a bird circling 
whither it would, forward or back, found pleasure alike in 
its own motion and in every feature of the landscape, 
though, before very long, the autumn twilight had wrapped 
the country into which she gazed in a dull mantle. But, 
for her, the colors only grew more intense, for summer 
thoughts and summer hopes were in her breast and lent to 
her face that radiance that had disturbed the serenity of her 
friend an hour or two before. 

It was mainly into the past that she peered with those 
long strange eyes, and with the past she had no quarrel. 

All and more than expectation had promised had been 
given her with the gray house upon the hill. With what 
ease, what ecstasy, had the bones of history been revitalized 
by her own fervid imagination! At her first call the sem- 
blances of bold men and beautiful women had flocked to 
don the guise of actuality. The painted boy, who had died 
for a king, or perhaps more often for a queen, was all too 
ready to accept the breath of life, while the lady who never 
lost her likeness to a modern unknown, kept her spell with 
her secret, and stared back at the new mistress of her 
house with a mocking charm, at eternal war with satiety. 
And in the window of the Gallery sat the great marble 
woman with her chin upon her hand, musing upon the for- 

214 


I Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 2 1 5 

I tunes of the Southerns past and to come. When, here and 
' there, a dark idea crossed the mind of this visionary, it was, 
invariably, to act as foil to the general brightness. That 
I hint of solitude and chill that had infected her dreams in 
the early days of home-coming had never intensified, for 
: egoism protected her at all points from disappointment, 
promising her that every need, so soon as it reached ma- 
turity, should find its saviour. 

And the task of eluding a husband in all save frankly 
material ways, had become easier instead of harder as time 
' went on; a delicate quality in his temperament as yet for- 
eign to hers, inducing him not only to accept, but presently 
to invite, the very distance she desired maintained. 

She had a qualm or two as she felt his fetters slacken, 
but the relief was too great to allow her to protest with 
any vehemence, and he was too proud to plead for rights 
the dictionary does not class or the law define. Soon she 
was left to the companionship of the librarian and her old 
t uurse. For Calder she had curiosity, for Minnie a patron- 
izing order of affection. She talked to both, for the man 
had a head and the woman a heart, while neither made un- 
due demand on her own emotions. Calder came by degrees 
, to regard her as illuminative, seeing in her gracious callous- 
! ness and picturesque selfishness some sort of landmark, 
descriptive of the human country from which he had so 
long exiled himself. As for Alva, she chose to see in their 
relationship the natural though circumscribed sympathy of 
two significant forces. They were extremes — he a man 
dealing with facts, she a woman dealing with fancies. She 
would have insisted, had she been urged into expression on 
the subject, that they had both extracted from existence 
I the individual sting — Calder because he desired to feel and 
submit to nothing, she because she desired to feel and sub- 
mit to everything — of course in the sensational line. He 
scheduled the tendencies of humanity, she embosomed 
them; he wrote the catalogue, she lived, in imagination, 
the myriad possibilities it contained, in joyous defiance of 
the common law and the common limit. In her wilder mo- 


2 1 6 Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 

ments she saw the old man forgotten by time, his lack of 
personal feeling acting as an invisible cap; she pictured 
the scythe of the Reaper powerless to deal the fatal 
stroke to a being toneless and intangible as the air he 
breathed. 

The merging of August into September had brought the 
new actor upon the scene, and, looking out now into the 
darkness, her smile deepened at the recollection of his 
entrance. She reviewed that early morning prologue with 
a satisfaction untouched by any sense whatsoever of regret 
or self-distrust. 

The Court was full of shooting men ; she had wished it, 
though she, like Griselda, had drawn the line at female in- 
vasion. She had been content that Peter’s interest should 
be distracted from herself and from that unclassified form 
of revolt then fully embarked upon. The babble of tongues 
served to drown the note of their disunion. 

She had risen early, a habit taught by her grandmother 
and not discarded with the majority of that lady’s precepts. 
She had drunk her cup of tea and wandered down to 
the banks of the trout stream, glittering invitingly between 
the branches of the great trees that bordered it. Her mind 
that morning had been a veritable pleasure ground, set out 
in attractive fashion to catch and delight the eye of any 
chance visitor. 

She told herself that she had always felt ahead the ad- 
vent of a new emotion, and, assuredly, she had taken 
quickened pulses to that particular walk beside the river. 

That her stranger should be fashioned, outwardly, some- 
what on her own lines — long and gracious lines — was a 
slap at the theories of the common deducist, who hugs so 
tenderly his argument concerning the mating of opposites. 
The young man, whose soft whistle gave her warning of his 
approach, was nearly as blond as herself, but it was with 
unquestioning approval that she looked him over. 

You are trespassing,” she said, as the whistle died on 
his shaven lip, and quickly, winningly, his smile had an- 
swered to the sparkle in her eye. 


j Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 217 

Tm caught, and by Lady Southern herself. The pun- 
ishment doesn't fit the crime." 

You shall be forgiven, if you tell me what brought you 
here." 

‘‘ Suppose I can't tell you that ? " he ventured warily. 

If I were to speak of arbitrary spirits of the woodland, 
you'd call it nonsense, of course." 

‘‘ I might, and again I might not," she replied, with 
obvious enjoyment of the turn his tongue had taken. ‘‘ It 
would depend entirely in what language you described the 
prompting spirit." 

Whether I proved him kin to yours," he said, too mus- 
ingly to court repulse. 

Half frightened and half enchanted by this confidence of 
bearing, she had temporized with her fancy and her pride. 

It's a pretty name — the spirit of the woodland," she 
said gaily. ‘‘ I wish they gave us the same sort, but they 
; wouldn't be distinguishing enough, would they? I'm Alva 
1 Southern ; you know that — and you ? " 

Her lifted eyebrows finished the question for her. 

Shall we say Faust? He was an adventurer of sorts ! " 

He was a betrayer too," she hazarded. 

, And last, not least, a lover. Wasn't it significant that 
I he reversed the usual order? Love, the real thing, fol- 
' lowed — it did not precede — betrayal." 

She had winced a little at his topic, at his easy handling 
of it, but curiosity had curbed the impulse to subdue him, 
and she was lost, from the moment, to convention at least. 
Plainly this person belonged to her own class, and, as 
plainly, he was versed in her favorite language. He knew 
I the scope of ambiguity, the width of insinuation, and he 
was not afraid to inflame either into adventure when he 
saw an advantageous opening. She had spent a full hour 
in rapid thrust and parry, in close intercourse with a 
nature that appeared now to prompt and now to follow the 
, impetus in her own. She became aware that she rode 
without a curb, and side by side with a companion at once 
familiar and foreign to her intelligence. Now he startled 


2 1 8 Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 

her by the weight of his sympathy — it was almost as 
though their estimate of a principle sprang from a common 
source; then, suddenly his antagonism was playing about 
one of her favorite prejudices, and she was defending it 
with an enthusiasm never before called into action by a 
fellow-creature. 

Learning his name and such of his history as he deemed 
it expedient to tell, it was inevitable that his influence over 
her licentious imagination should be increased. The son 
of Gwenny, well-shaped and easy-spoken, coming at the 
psychological moment, when ennui threatened to touch 
the dear form of illusion, had little to fear from that stifled 
force, her conscience. She could recall (and, with a slight 
wrinkling of the brows, she did recall) a couple of recoils — 
a pair of semi-reconciliations with Peter, but on each occa- 
sion that fatal tendency in him to play the grateful slave, 
rather than the outraged master, had ruined his cause; 
and, if an angel drove her towards these two impulses of 
confession, there were seven devils of perversity to drive 
her back again, in the direction of her only half-explored 
Bluebeard's chamber. 

That she and Glover handled pitch in the propagation of 
this intimacy went without saying, but there was a .single 
element of excuse for them in a vague, but dominating, 
mutual sense of freedom from common risks. Each had 
the inward conviction that a unique quality of mind — an 
uncanny triumph over sex — lent to their association, not 
only immunity from danger but a positive flavor of virtue. 
They saw themselves released, for a time at any rate, from 
the common law. Neither was afraid to note or to approve 
the physical perfection of the other; perhaps because a yet 
warmer sense of self-appreciation protected the situation. 

They met often, and with ever increasing confidence, 
with ever increasing delight in the mental audacity of the 
other. 

Alva did not need to close her eyes in order to see again 
the green meadow-land beside the trout-stream. So prac- 
tised was she in the art of recreation that she could almost 


Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 219 

breathe the mist of morning rising from the river-bed to 
half conceal their two slow-moving forms. Again she 
could inhale that first faint challenge of coming winter that 
had met her, as she slipped down, from the terrace to the 
garden, from the garden to the trysting-place. 

And to Anthony, she knew, this gift of intercourse was 
no less welcome, though she little guessed how sordid and 
how cynical was the state out of which she, for the time, 
seduced him. He mused too, in these hours of separation, 
but he mused darkly, treacherously. 

More disappointed than he cared to own to himself at 
Griselda’s repulse, he had spent dejected months learning 
the limit set to the most ingenious — the most profane spirit. 
The so far and no farther of philosophy soured his 
temper without widening his view. The sages, whose lore 
he studied, could only repeat for him a tale too greedily, 
too prematurely absorbed. Fast in the toils of hereditary 
bitterness and morbid habit, he could find no better God 
than the elaborately artificial image to which he had so long 
accustomed himself to bow. Like the beast, his head was 
towards the earth, and it had become a second nature to 
pore over the intricate map of human frailties, to follow 
the distorted lines from their grim source to their yet grim- 
! mer bourne, to drug, though never quite to destroy, the 
germ of intelligence confided to him. 

Circling about for novelty in his patch of ground, he 
chanced upon an old habit, and rewoke some of the en- 
thusiasm he had once felt for it. He took again to tres- 
pass, though with more respect for convention. He re- 
sumed his early morning rides in the direction of The 
Court, leaving his horse (or it might be his bicycle) with 
( the proteges foisted upon him by Griselda, and established, 
so it happened, in the near neighborhood of her old home, 
on the grounds of which Anthony had found the man work. 

Wandering by the river he would look up at the great 
house, and muse lazily upon the attributes, material and 
spiritual, that go to the construction of these so-called 
landmarks of social power. At times, in lighter moods, 


220 Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 

he would let meditation trifle with the temperaments or 
the fates of the two women whose youth and beauty com- 
pelled in him a degree of interest. 

At first Griselda haunted the place, troubling him as the 
sudden approach of death troubles an avowed atheist. She 
was so aggressively sentient, so radically at odds with his 
theories. She was a gipsy, her wildness enhanced by that 
hint of religious feeling of which he had caught stray 
glimpses. On the stillness her voice would come to him: 

I could find the sermon in the stone ’’ ; and, at the memory, 
he would wince, for that sermon was the last he wished to 
seek or find. 

He was glad when he began to catch visions of Alva, 
walking far above in her rose-garden. She distracted his 
mind and fired his stagnating imagination. She had never 
spoken to him. She was no more than an image, white 
and gold and infinitely graceful, passing down a village 
church upon the arm of an essentially prosaic bridegroom. 

Anthony had recognized, instinctively, a subdued denial 
of the common acceptation of the common lot in her atti- 
tude. He, at least, saw a travesty in the ceremony that 
bound her to marital law. He made, however, no effort to 
substantiate his theory, no effort to come into touch with 
the new mistress of The Court. 

Perhaps he saw in the calling-card the natural enemy of 
the only relation he cared to establish ; perhaps his egoism, 
like Alva’s own, was audacious enough to promise him the 
due fulfilment of his peculiar demand. At all events he 
was content to remain below, content to wait till her pas- 
sion should drive her down, down to where he wove, so 
patiently, so confidently, the web destined to entangle 
her. 

Her cordial greeting had been no surprise, and at close 
quarters she promised yet more eloquently than through 
the magic haze of distance. Almost from the first he had 
recognized the coming surrender in her eyes. Let him 
work cautiously, and she would infallibly accept all that 
he meant to offer her. 


Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 221 

In the past intrigue had been expensive, but to his 
unique companion there was no price attached. According 
to his code she taxed neither pocket nor morals. Her 
need was precisely the counterpart of his. The scale of 
demand and surrender hung dead level. It was now a 
war, and now an idyll, of wits on which they embarked. 
Mutual daring raised many a wall impregnable to the soli- 
tary mind, and tracts of new land became visible. 

Lines of temperamental divergence gave piquancy to 
every adventure. There were feminine recoils to flatter 
the autocracy of the man, and masculine limits to the force 
of fancy, to foster the cry for occasional supremacy in the 
woman. Alva could fly the higher, but Anthony could 
grope the deeper, could turn her fairies into monsters, 
hydra-headed and cruel, shaped to play poignantly upon 
the nerves of a creature so dependent upon the extrava- 
gances of existence. 

It seemed to the young man that no serpent, save the 
vulgar fear of detection, could ever creep into his garden. 
The dense and friendly foliage was already beginning to 
thin, and, before long, their meeting-place would be ex- 
posed. By the degree of his anxiety concerning this same 
exposure, he was gradually enabled to find the goal of this 
mental adventure, and he had to own that, though uncom- 
mon in character, it would probably have to be driven in 
the common direction, as soon as circumstance turned 
crusty. 

Though he still refused as vigorously as the girl to call 
their intercourse an ordinary intrigue, it became plain to 
him that necessity would presently involve them both in the 
methods of less platonic lovers. 

Despoiled he would not be, with such a fund of question 
left to put to her, and he felt certain that tact and in- 
genuity would easily persuade her to follow him, even into 
conditions she now thought beneath discussion. 

It would not be difficult to teach this credulous girl that 
beneath the ugly framework of every problem lies hid a 
vibrant heart, ignored by the uninitiated. Tendency after 


222 Advantage and Disadvantage of Early Rising 

tendency had she resigned to him, for the pleasure of 
watching him tear its delicate ingredients to ribbons, and 
now, with the winter closing on the land, and the door 
threatening to close upon their companionship, he was con- 
fident that there was no opposition left in her to withstand 
his coming proposition. If none should intervene she 
would accept it, as she had, with more or less avidity, ac- 
cepted his various opinions. She had winced, but only in 
the fashion of a highly-strung personality, quick to detect 
any momentous movement however slight. Her eye had 
flown, but always to return tamer, more curious, more con- 
fiding. She had accepted his letter of appointment. She 
had answered it, and with something warmer than acqui- 
escence. She was coming back to him now, as fast as 
steam could bring her, leaving her husband behind. The 
husband should always be behind, farther and farther 
behind, fie vowed. She had promised to set the window of 
her little boudoir, on the ground floor, open to the night — 
and to him. 

That first chat, in the intimacy of fire and lamplight, 
should spell his ‘‘ Waterloo.’’ His faculties he believed to 
be mature — they should express their value in his battle 
with what might remain of her antagonism. He would 
use no weapon but his cautious tongue, nothing but the 
light shot he had always employed. But he now thought 
to know the vital parts in her mental construction; he 
fancied he knew where to hit. He would condense such 
education as he had gathered from the brains of the dead 
and the living, and what faith he still possessed in the virtue 
of existence should stand or fall by her acceptance or re- 
fusal of his offer. 

She was the first to yield him any consistent dose of 
stimulation — of joie de vivre; she should be the last, he 
assured himself, with an ugly twist of the mouth, to flout 
his claim to such. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A PORTRAIT OF ALVA^ LADY SOUTHERN, BY AN UNKNOWN 
ARTIST 

Dora had been allowed an afternoon off, and Minnie 
was in attendance, when the mistress of The Court re- 
turned from her short journey to town. 

The old woman had laid out a white dress of rather 
severe cut, but it was ordered back to the wardrobe, and a 
tea-gown of dark blue silk chosen to replace it. Minnie 
looked distrustfully at the garment. The pattern wrought 
round the hem and about the square cut neck was intricate 
and beautiful, but the threads of gold wire were just a trifle 
more subdued in tint than the threads of Alva's hair. The 
silk shimmered and rustled with every movement of the 
wearer, but this little mystery of sight and sound seemed 
always an attribute to the central mystery, emanating from 
the lovely languorous woman, who dominated the occasion 
with such a regal air of placidity. Alva was far too ab- 
sorbed in thought to note the furtive glances thrown at her, 
from time to time, by her attendant. With a careless smile 
of thanks for service, she left her, and made her way to 
the dining-room. When the long procession of dishes had 
been brought up and carried down again, almost untasted, 
when a cup of black coffee had been disposed of, she 
found herself the rare prey to a fit of restlessness, to a 
sudden need of human companionship. 

The thought of Calder drew her from her warm seat out 
into the passage, from whence she made her way, by 
candle-light, to the library. 

“ Calder," she said softly from the doorway, and the 
gray head turned. 


223 


224 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

I was thinking of you/’ he replied unexpectedly, 
‘‘ wanting you. Come nearer.” 

She closed the door behind, and obeyed the imperious 
tone. 

I’m not so tiresome as you once supposed, then ? ” 

He made no reply to this evident call for flattery, and 
pointed to the chair opposite his own. When she seated 
herself, the light from his lamp fell full on her face, and 
with something like eagerness he leaned forward to scru- 
tinize it. 

‘‘ As a woman, you’re not in the least interesting or 
valuable,” he said calmly, ‘‘ but, as an instrument, I begin 
to see significance in you. There’s an extraordinary 
vacuum, and I’m curious to discover what force in nature 
will take advantage of it.” 

'' A vacuum ! ” she echoed, with indignation ; ‘‘ that’s not 
a very pretty way of expressing what distinguishes me from 
the majority.” 

'' The value of a vacuum is enormous ; it’s revolution- 
ary. You’re revolutionary. You’re actually shaking my 
atheism. It’s possible — it’s just possible, that I’m wrong 
in my theory of human decadence. Your quiver of emo- 
tion doesn’t appear to be reflex. But you’re nervous; that 
won’t do.” 

He laid a couple of emaciated fingers on her pulse. 

'' That’s why I came to you, Mr. Calder. I want to be 
steadied. I’m going to make a journey to-night, but I 
can’t see an inch of the way. Couldn’t you show it me? 
You seem to look very far ahead.” 

‘'You must go the way of least resistance,” he said, 
after deliberation. 

“ You’re sure, Calder — ^you’re quite sure! ” 

“ The fanatics wear out,” he said, a light rising to his 
small, keen eyes ; “ the martyrs burn. Only by relaxing the 
personal grip can you hope to provide a breeding-ground 
for fresh vitality. But you mustn’t resist. You mustn’t 
tremble in the common way. You reduce the power. You 
must be perfectly passive.” 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 225 

‘‘ But where am I going? ’’ 

‘‘ Think/’ he said, peremptorily ; ‘‘ think, and the way 
will become visible. You have had fore-visions of it al- 
ready.” 

‘‘Yes,” she said faintly. “ IVe seen a ribbon of light, 
going out, up into the infinite. But nothing is clear on 
either side of it; it cuts the darkness, and Fm beginning 
to get frightened of the darkness.” 

“ You’re only frightened,” he insisted, “ because the mo- 
ment of departure has come. You’re trying to give your 
intelligence elbow-room, and habit is hampering the efifort. 
You’re shaking, as the soldier shakes the night before an 
engagement. It doesn’t mean he’ll run away at the critical 
hour ; it means, more probably, that the generation of force 
in his veins is making him uncomfortable.” 

“ It’s true, Calder ; the force is coming, and it will carry 
me through ; but oh ! it’s the strangest country ! There are 
none of the old landmarks — right and wrong don’t exist 
any more; the question changes to the exercise or non- 
exercise of faculty. See — I’m not trembling now. For 
years I’ve been preparing for this decision — this cutting of 
cables. I’m going out — away with my friend ; but, Calder, 
where do they take us, these friends of the soul? How 
far?” 

“ I can’t tell you what you find in front,” he said slowly ; 
“ I can only tell you what you leave behind. But there’s 
no need to tell ; you’ve only to look at me, at the rest of us, 
with our gaunt looks and lax limbs. It’s plain we’re going 
nowhere save into our six foot of earth. At least there’s 
nothing to risk, child. Go with one friend, come back with 
another. Move, at least, out of this circle of stagnant feel- 
ing. Move, while there’s time and opportunity.” 

“ Why have you never tried ? ” she asked. 

“ I ? There’s no vacuum in me. Every corner has been 
filled up. From my childhood I’ve gorged data — statistics 
— the history of human passions and desires. I’ve been 
too heavy to fly from the beginning. And, once, before, a 
winged creature sat as you are doing, and looked across at 


226 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

me. She had hair like yours, and eyes with the memory of 
freedom in them. She hurt me, reminding me of my self- 
imposed burden of the flesh. She came once, twice, and 
again, and each time there was fresh knowledge in her 
look. She, too, spoke of a friend and of a journey into the 
darkness, but she never came back to tell me of it. She 
never came back.’’ 

His fingers fell from her wrist, and the enthusiasm faded 
from his withered face. His head fell on his breast, and 
he seemed suddenly enveloped in mournful reminiscence. 

Alva touched him, spoke to him, but in vain. With the 
memory of that first inspiration he lost, apparently, his 
thread of connection with the other. In a few minutes 
Anthony would be due, and, reluctantly — for the old man 
had roused her wonder — she left her seat and the room, and 
made her way to the boudoir. 

She set the window open, put the lamp with the red 
shade on a table, so that the light should fall invitingly into 
the gloom of the garden, and knelt down before the fire 
of pine-logs. 

Calder had, at all events, set her vanity in a glow. She 
thought, complacently and coolly, of her own rarity of 
tissue, of the finger of fate singling her out and leading 
her, by the vulgar high-road of matrimony, to this central 
point of sensation, where stood awaiting her the sole crea- 
ture in the universe she could companion without any sort 
of inward rebellion. It was odd that the thrill, engendered 
by so triumphant a train of thoughts, should end in a shiver. 
The air from the garden was damp and cold, and she turned 
her face from it and sent foraging eyes round the comfort- 
able room. It was no state chamber, but it could draw, for 
all that, the line that separates middle-class ease from 
upper-class elegance. It was the toy, not the stamp, of a 
grande dame, and, for a painful second, Alva felt the re- 
sults of her grandmother’s education actually tampering 
with the sublime emotions of what she termed her higher 
self.” She saw the back of fortune turned, to leave her 
bare to the common sun and moon of normal conditions. 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 227 

She had, as yet, reached no point of definite intention or 
expectation, even when under the influence of the libra- 
rian’s stimulus ; but now, she felt that the grand and vague 
issue of the night inclosed lesser and coarser ones. She 
had little time to yield to this new and disturbing impres- 
sion, for Anthony appeared in the frame of the window, 
and, with an impulsive movement, as uncommon as it was 
graceful, she held out her hands towards him. 

“ I’m all alone, Tony, horribly alone. Why didn’t you 
come five minutes sooner ? ” 

He smiled at her, but he made no effort to touch the 
proffered hands, and she let them fall again. 

“ It’s warm here, in all conscience,” he said, taking a 
seat on the sofa, drawn invitingly up before the fire. 

She kept her place upon the rug, and her face was on the 
same level as his own. The firelight played across it, fill- 
ing it with rosy color. 

You’ve come fast,” she reminded him, and out of a 
damp November night.” . 

He set his hot fingers to her cheek, and saw her shrink. 
Laughing, he removed them, and leant back, thus widening 
the distance between their two faces. 

He had given his hand before, but never in the fashion 
of the sentimentalist, for it was upon restraint, he believed, 
that he had founded his influence. Griselda had taught 
him to be chary of yielding to the common habits, and, in 
Alva’s case, he was aware that her chief quarrel with her 
husband concerned the question of elbow-room for doubt 
and speculation. 

He had approached her cheek, too, more than once, but 
it had always pleased him to let suggestion do duty for ful- 
filment, and, watching her now, he was convinced of the 
wisdom of his tactics, convinced that she held in her nature 
no power to combat his coming proposition. 

Sitting together in the subdued light, they talked, for a 
time, in desultory fashion, but through each careless ques- 
tion or simple answer there ran a cord that seemed now to 
restrain the flight of an unspoken fancy, running alongside 


228 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

the quiet stream of talk, and now to urge it into excess. 
And all the time, the cord was being woven into a pattern, 
both mysterious and extenuating, a web, concealing more 
and more effectually the sense of wrong-doing. When the 
clock upon the mantelpiece struck an hour, Anthony looked 
at its unconscious face, and then back to the conscious one 
before him. 

I am going to Paris,’’ he said, and brought an Oh ! ” 
of consternation to her lips. 

‘‘ With you, of course.” 

With me ? ” she echoed, and her breath began to flutter. 

‘‘ How quick you are ; and how free from the common 
expletives ! ” 

'‘And after Paris, Tony?” 

She certainly had her voice under control. 

" Why, Italy, of course.” 

“And after Italy?” 

“Would the deluge frighten or enchant you, Alva?” 

“ Oh, the whole thing sounds like enchantment, but — 
tell me — does one ever come back from these magic excur- 
sions ? ” 

“ Not by the same route as one goes out; but that would 
be monotonous, wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ Should we come back to England ? ” she persisted, “ to 
this house ? ” 

“ Does a country or a house really mean anything to 
your imagination ? ” 

“ Not just now, perhaps, but I believe it might, at some 
time or other.” 

“ In plain translation : my game is not worth Lady 
Southern’s candle.” 

“ So many have played the game, Anthony.” 

“ Oh, that’s the rub, is it ? But they don’t play it our 
way.” 

“If you could prove that,” she said, with sudden pas- 
sion. 

“ May I smoke in this room ? ” 

And, at a nod, he left his place and took a match-box 


' A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 229 

jfrom the table in the window. While he stood away from 
'her, lighting his cigarette, she turned again to the fire, 

I holding out chill hands to the blaze, thinking — thinking — 

I with such intensity that she defeated her own purpose; for 
' the thoughts were like Calder's — too heavy with knowledge 
and recollection to fly. She felt herself paralyzed by the 

I horrible idea that fate and her own temperament had 
evolved for her this dangerous hour, and however she 
might struggle to make a decision for herself, the issue 
was fore-written. 

I When her companion returned to his seat on the sofa, 
:( she came to stand before him. For what seemed a long 
time nobody spoke. He blew rings of blue smoke into 
.the air, and together they watched them, he with satisfac- 
tion, she with superstitious terror. 

‘‘If you think,’’ she said at last, “ that it means no more 
than that — no more than smoke, forming into a shape and 
losing that shape, why exert yourself? Why tempt me, 
if — if there’s nothing to take?” 

“ Why be tempted, Alva, if you’re so sure on that 
point ? ” 

I “ But I’m not sure, and you know it. It’s on my uncer- 

I tainty that you trade. On my dim hope that there are more 

things in heaven and earth than — than ” 

“ Than Southern and his goods and chattels,” he finished 
lightly for her. 

jj “If you’re to get your way, Tony, you must make that 
way clearer,” she said, with unexpected opposition. 

He threw the cigarette into the fire and looked up at 
I her. 

“ We’ll start with the prose. There’s this house, Alva. 

I You’ve found it — perhaps I had better say you still find it — 
a desirable plaything. Well, I’m not inclined to quarrel 
with you on that account, seeing that I played in it myself 
I for many years, as I once confessed to you. But one out- 
" grows even a complicated toy, and you’re bound to outgrow 
this one, if you haven’t done so already. You’ll want some- 
thing bigger before long. You’ll want a setting, in fact, 


230 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

rather than a house, and that’s what Fm prepared to give 
you/’ 

''You might put more gilding into a new frame,” she 
answered cautiously, " but you couldn’t put just the same 
ghosts.” 

" The ghosts of respectable landowners — no — ^you’re 
right, I couldn’t; but I doubt if you’d want me to, when 
you’d thought the matter out a bit.” 

He paused, a natural indolence in him warring with the 
conviction that if he were to conquer this vacillating spirit, 
he would have to exert himself. 

“ There are ghosts in my father’s house, scores of 
them. They come back to the chimneys where they used 
to hide as priests or kings or spies; they groan in the 
attics and drive an army of maids through the house every 
year. They’re stationary ghosts — even inattention won’t 
persuade them to move on; and they’re amusing and in- 
structive; but they’re not half so amusing or so instructive, 
to my mind, as the other sort, the sort we’ve garnered from 
the ends of the earth. My father is a collector of curios, 
you know. There are romances in marble and tragedies in 
bronze ; there are bright moods in silver and grim moods in 
glass — in short, it’s a museum of feeling for an emotionalist. 
Now, don’t suppose I’m going to take you there. No. I 
want to take you to the far corners out of which these 
samples were dug. There’s a sense in both of us, I fancy, 
which won’t be put off with the mere attributes of mysti- 
cism. We shall scent and we shall take what ignorance or 
prejudice (national or personal), what limited means, in 
fact, have prevented the centuries from disturbing.” 

Her face burned and paled again. 

" But you haven’t unlimited means,” she said, with one 
of those lapses into prose with which she had occasionally 
surprised him before. 

" You mean, I’m dependent on my father. But there 
is a race, my dear Alva, who spend their lives and their 
capital in tempering the wind of delay to such lambs as 
myself, suffering from temporary — only temporary, mind 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 231 

' you — paucity of fleece. I can assure you that the question 
of freedom, so far as it is concerned with pounds, shillings, 
i and pence, has been satisfactorily settled.” 

She turned from him once more, and leaned her arms upon 
: the mantelpiece, leaving him free to smile at the memory of 
his own ingenuity. There was more than a Jewish banker 
at his back ; there was the rancor of a vindictive man. 
To hurt Gwendolen through her own son, and through 
those old friends of hers, round whom suspicion had always 
‘ hovered, was a temptation the old rufflan had been power- 
less to resist. Taken to some extent into his son’s confi- 
dence, he had disgorged money with remarkable liberality. 
He had sped the youth upon a path his diseased mind could 
pursue with little logic but with an abundance of malice. 
He could grasp the opening to wound — to avenge. And 
Anthony chuckled to himself, as he mused on the subtlety 
of his own scheme and its complete success. There was 
an added attraction to him in the thought that this beauti- 
ful and only half explored woman would come to him with 
a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. It was positively 
exhilarating to horoscope the fury of the despoiled grand- 
mother, when she realized that not only the girl, but this 
portion of her fortune was lost to her. 

The clock striking again warned him that time and 
opportunity should not be trifled with, and that it would 
be wise to nail his victim to a definite promise, which, he 
felt sure, once given, would be considered sacred by her 
romantic obstinacy of mind. 

Must I tell you more, Alva ? Doesn’t your own imagi- 
nation indorse what I’ve suggested? Do the house and the 
husband really represent an obstacle?” 

She turned round, and there was more resolution in her 
aspect than he quite liked. 

‘‘ I can’t do things as glibly as you, Tony. If you care, 
you’ll fight for your point and me. I won’t come for a 
raised finger and one of your enigmatical smiles. You 
must substantiate some of the hints, anyway. You must 
prove that you’ll give me more than convention has given. 


232 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

What, precisely, am I going to gain and to lose by following 
you ? 

If he felt annoyance at this further call upon his mental 
ingenuity, he successfully hid all traces of it. 

That’s sound enough,” he said approvingly. Come 
and sit here, beside me. I’m not going to finger you or 
look at you either — in fact, I want you out of the light — 
out of my line of view while I talk.” 

She took the place he indicated, and leant back, watching 
his averted profile. 

“ I’m to tell you what you lose ? Upon my soul, it’s im- 
possible to build the castle with anything but cards. It 
shall go up, as you insist, though you’re bound to pull it 
down yourself directly. Marriage! It has its day, of 
course, like every dog, and I won’t say it isn’t a festive 
day. Flowers, music, frocks, excitement, envy, and then — 
the journey into dual solitude, with the still, small voice 
breaking through the rattle of the railway train. What 
did it say? You’ve not forgotten. You tried to silence 
it as one silences a too intelligent child, betraying the false 
basis of an adult boast. You sighed — now don’t deny it — 
for your grandmother’s strident tones, for the chatter of 
your bridesmaids, for the voices of dressmakers and 
jewelers, for anything and everything calculated to drown 
the note of disappointment. Southern is a handsome fel- 
low; his taste is irreproachable; he was a triumph of the 
tailor’s art on his wedding-day. He’s a good fellow; he 
took care you shouldn’t have a material want unfulfilled; 
he surrounded you with picture papers, and oh, how glad 
you were to retire into them ! ” 

He allowed her time to contradict, but she did not take 
advantage of it. He could hear her breath coming more 
quickly than was natural, certainly to her, and he went 
on, with an increase of enthusiasm. 

We’ll allow marriage to be a species of fortress. It 
keeps out the storm — keeps off those great breaths of wild 
air that come across the mountains, and, according to a 
man of genius, drive the susceptible mad. One certainly 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 233 

remains perfectly sane within one's four walls. Routine, 
unbroken routine, is the order of the day. The lord rules 
!| and the lady submits, year in, year out. The law of self- 
deprivation flourishes, and the law of material increase 
i breeds its noisy band of robbers, destined to succumb in 
their turn to voluntary bondage. Oh, it's impossible to pile 
up such cheap and such utterly unnecessary agony! Per- 
sonally, Pm convinced that law was meant to be an alpha- 
, bet. The letters in their natural order spell nonsense ; it's 
' our reason that's to cock and turn them, to get them into 
a shape that's usable. Honor is an essentially mundane 
article, invented for our comfort and happiness. Is it 
honorable to remain beside a man from whom you've been 
divorced by every natural emotion in your breast ? Can 
you give him or take from him anything of value, as we 
regard values? You've never been allowed to indulge can- 
dor in your life, and, in consequence, you've known no 
actual life. With me you can express yourself ; with 
Southern it's all suppression, and suppression ends in anni- 
hilation; nature takes away what we refuse to employ. 
There's the house left ; there's the possibility of children in 
; it, but you're not the sort of woman who finds her heaven 
, in training the young idea how to shoot. You're too ad- 
! venturous — too conscious, besides, of the three-score-and- 
ten limit ; you'd rebel at the pace, and you'd be apt to shake 
in Southern's children the distrust of progression that your 
grandmother's teaching has forbidden you to shake in him. 
No, Alva, there's no way for you but mine." 

He turned to find her trembling. 

‘‘ To be held, dear, by so worn a chain." 

He spoke with tender mockery, and the note was rare 
as it was musical. 

“ If I snap it, Tony, where will you take me? " 

Wherever you've courage to come," he declared wan- 
tonly. And in the silence, while her resolution fluttered, 
like a bird before the open door of its cage, his mind was 
composed enough to find in this picture of irresolution a 
subject for the painter. 


234 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

He saw her, pinafored, before a nursery fire, the room ^ 
behind her dark, her hair upstanding, her great ignorant^' 
eyes fixed fearfully upon the ruined castle in the flames. \t 
She was the child-mother of all women, and she waited 
for the impetus that, wedded to the plastic mood of the 
moment, should inspire or fail her; should drive her into 
illuminative life, or leave her to drop back into the circle 
of nursery law and limit. 

He was content to wait, certain that presently she would 
speak and speak committally. 

‘‘Yes. I want to look out into great cities, not into a 
gentleman’s park. I’m in love with life but not with you, 
as you’re in love, not with me, but with all the possibilities 
in women that granny and her kind have drowned, like 
kittens in a pond. I want emancipation, but — but can you 
give it me? That’s the question. One minute I think so 
and I’m ready to follow you, and then I’m caught by an old 
memory. I’m a child, Tony, looking right and left for the i 
door of escape, and now and again I find it, and I get 
away into the forest. It’s a very diminutive wood, to be J 
exact, but it’s big enough to hold a band of fairy play- |l 
fellows. You’ve only got to shut your eyes and smile ever ; 
so faintly and put out your two arms, with all the fingers ¥ 
outspread, and long and long for all the things they’ve told }/| 
you don’t exist, and presently you hear the laughter, the jj 
voices, like little silver bells, coming nearer. You feel a j 
touch — a pinch, if they’re mischievous, and you open your 
eyes to find them round you in a circle, and for a minute, j 
for an hour, a year (oh, there’s no way to mark the flight ! 
of time, save by the degree of crossness on the faces when j 
you get home!), you’re living, loving, going somewhere, J(l| 
feeling something. It’s glorious! but it isn’t all, or the | 
memory would be sweet. There’s the night to come. The I 
light goes out, and the fairies of the wood are back. But 
it isn’t fun and frolic they are bringing; it’s anger. They’re 
not pretty or kind any more; they’re treacherous, and 
they’ve the power to strangle me, by virtue of the ring I 
drew with them in the forest. I’m dying to the thought ;[ 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 235 

that I gave myself to murder in that green wood in that 
moment of ecstasy. I made some strange — some fatal 
mistake, Tony, and that’s the thought that keeps me from 
you, that makes me hesitate ; for when I stretched my arms 
out to you to-night, as you appeared at the window, it was 
in just the same way, with the same inward cry, with the 
same smile on my mouth, with the same longing to escape 
the grim, grave People Downstairs. Suppose Pm about to 
make another great mistake, about to give myself again to 
treachery and this memory coming to disturb my dreams 
is a warning ? ” 

Undoubtedly it is a warning, but not against me. The 
mistake you made was big enough and treacherous enough 
to rouse the fury of any champion of your higher self, 
fairy or otherwise — the mistake of that prosaic marriage of 
yours; that marriage without love or even interest; that 
marriage that filled a column of The Morning Post. I 
should be inclined to strangle you if you took my ring and 
went back to Mayfair.” 

She let herself be calmed by his incisive tone. The awe 
lingered upon her face, but the opposition faded out. 

“Yes, it’s true,” she agreed presently; “I married the 
enemy of my forest-lovers, but it wasn’t my fault. I 
wanted to be left alone; I didn’t want a husband, but — 
they wouldn’t give me the new life without him, and I had 
waited a long time. And there was his great name and his 
fine house — and the pressure. They all seemed to care so 
much, granny and Peter and even little silly Griselda. I 
took him partly to please them; and — he’s kind, and there 
are moments when he and this house of his take a rough 
hold of me. They seem to threaten me, like my fairies, 
with passion, with death — but they haven’t a right, have 
they? They’re only matter, and our relation is of the 
mind. Don’t look at me with that curl of the lip; I’m 
doing what you want — I’m coming, but — where — Tony — 
where ? ” 

“ Seaward,” he ventured, watching her cautiously, as the 
librarian had done half an hour before ; “ in a great ship. 


236 A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 

Alva, with giant sails that opportunity has never filled be- 
fore. First we’ll go south, to let you feel the sun and hear 
the swallows — to get this November fog out of our lungs; 
then north, I think, through solitude and ice, to test the 
quality of our mental revenues, the strength of our bond of 
sympathy. We’ll listen to the howl of wolves, and go near 
— as near as life may go — to the outside edge. We’ll draw 
it fine, dear, our line of adventure. And when we’ve 
proved the question of endurance we’ll go west, and, follow- 
ing the law of contrasts, shoot and ride and hustle with 
the fidgets of the earth; then east, to poke into the caves 
where barbarism shows its fangs — where pioneers of a 
doomed cause enjoy, in secret, the practice of occultism, 
wage their ineffectual but vastly entertaining war upon 
what is generally called the Reformation.” 

''And then? — and then? There are only four corners, 
and they are all gone.” 

" Then, you distrustful creature, back to some central 
point of civilization — Paris, maybe, or our own capital — 
to crush experience into a cup and test its quality ; to offer 
the wine to a neighbor, to intoxicate or poison his un- 
seasoned head; to speculate, to recall, to argue, to return, 
even, if the spirit prompts, to some too bewildering spot to 
look with a shrewder or a bolder eye into its mystery. To- 
morrow you shall be left alone. You shall go over this 
house, like a careful housewife, scheduling all the objects 
it contains, and their respective values. Against the sum 
of them you shall weigh my offer, and you shall make your 
decision without so much as a finger on your freedom of 
mind. I tell you I want no martyr — no Lot’s wife ; I want 
a friend of my own pattern or nothing, when I start for 
Paris to-morrow night.” 

" I’ll come, Tony ; but not in the night-time. He’s been 
good to me, and I don’t want anybody to tell him but my- 
self. I must wait till he comes back to-morrow, and I 
don’t yet know at what hour it will be. Yes, he’s been 
good to me. I wish he hadn’t; I wish he wasn’t — 
wasn’t ” 


A Portrait of Alva, Lady Southern 237 

She was at a loss for a finish, and he supplied it easily. 

“ Wasn’t the man you were bound to say ' good-by ’ to 
sooner or later. Of course you do ; nobody wants to make a 
mess of marriage. But you’re right not to make a mid- 
night or hasty flitting. We are going to express, not to 
efface, ourselves, and the more openly we go the better. 
You’ll write to me to-morrow, naming an hour and spot. 
You’re not afraid any more, are you? ” 

He left his seat, and stood looking down on her, weighing 
the advisability of adding anything to his argument. Her 
raised face seemed to demand a last inciting phrase, and, 
inwardly protesting at the extravagance of women, he found 
and voiced one. 

'' You think I ask too much ; but wait a year, only a year. 
I’ll help you paint a picture, before which those whisperers 
in your Gallery shall grow pale with envy. You shall go 
down to posterity the woman I’ve discovered, not the meek 
complement of a country squire; we’ll write your history 
on a page of glowing life, not on a yard or two of canvas.” 

And with the promise, with a mere brush of his lips 
against the hand impulsively extended, he was gone, leav- 
ing her, as he well knew, half the slave of his profane 
eloquence and half the victim of that ancient fever in her 
blood, that had, from childhood, obscured for her the face of 
reason. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE VIRTUE OF THE MOUSE 

It never occurred to Alva to suspect an undue interest in 
her movements in the persons who catered to her physical 
comfort. She would have been both astonished and 
chagrined had she known how often her habits, her actions, 
and her conversation were the topic for discussion below- 
stairs.'’ Much of such discussion had to be uttered out of 
earshot of the greater lights of the servants’ hall ; but it was 
known to every inmate of The Court, save its master, that 
her early morning walks were not always solitary. Her 
companion was not difficult to name, and though the foliage 
by the river concealed, more often than not, the movements 
of the pair, there were odd occasions when the meeting was 
noted and duly commented upon. What an under-keeper 
whispered in the ear of an under-housemaid might not be 
any very damaging tale, still, that such a whisper should 
pass at all, was torture to one faithful soul in the house. 

Minnie, by virtue of her long connection with the family, 
was privileged to see more of her mistress’ state of mind 
than falls to the usual lot of a servant, and she had little 
difficulty in piecing together the fragments dropped or 
thrown to her. She had been perfectly aware at what hour 
her charge began those summer days, though she was never 
summoned to help her dress. Some pressure of anxiety 
would sound as regularly as an alarum clock, and she would 
rise and dress and slip, like a mouse, in the footsteps of her 
darling, to note, with cautious intensity, every movement of 
a huntress singularly ignorant, at first, of the quarry she 
sought. 

But Minnie knew the particular demand behind this girl’s 
nature. She knew — none better — the origin of this book of 

238 


The Virtue of the Mouse 239 

life so mysterious to others. She had seen the growing 
form of disunion between husband and wife; she had 
marked the moment when the first whisper of satiety had 
subdued the light in the eye of the solitary; and with the 
advent of Anthony Glover on the scene, every faculty in the 
servile but intelligent mind had risen to battle with the 
danger he represented. If, in aspect, she resembled a 
mouse, in dogged pursuit of the trail she resembled a blood- 
hound; and no single interview between Alva and her new 
friend passed without the old woman’s cognizance; or, in- 
deed, without her presence or near proximity. From many 
a green hiding-place she participated in the knowledge or 
conjectures they exchanged so liberally; and day by day she 
watched for the waning of the summer, that promised to 
arrest this strange companionship : for beneath all her 
terror Minnie did not fail to note something other than the 
common form of mutual attraction. She recognized a 
mental, rather than a physical, indiscretion in the affair, but 
she was experienced enough to know that intrigue has taken 
this circumlocutionary route to disaster upon occasion, and 
she did not relax an iota of her vigilance. 

And the approach of winter had brought dismay, for in 
Alva’s aspect it had been impossible to misread the denial of 
all question of separation. The leaves, that year, had been 
slow to forsake their trees, and until late in October the two 
had continued to meet. Then came a brief interruption, 
for Sir Peter took his wife to Paris for a fortnight. She 
went cheerfully enough, but, alas! she came back more 
cheerfully still. And though the early morning walk had 
been given up, it was apparent to the watcher that the post 
brought daily communion with the tempter; and Alva’s air 
of dreamy absorption was directed no longer to the pictures 
in the Gallery, but to those closely-covered sheets of note- 
paper. 

In November she took the short journey to town with 
Peter, returning alone the same day, and Minnie guessed 
that opportunity was too close to be resisted. 

From a vantage-point above the boudoir window she 


240 


The Virtue of the Mouse 


watched for the corroboration of her inward vaunt of per- 
spicuity. A sensation of despair seized her as she looked 
down upon the patch of rosy light thrown invitingly by the 
red lamp in the room below. It spoke as forcibly to her as 
to the young man climbing up so steadily towards invasion ; 
for, if he had bold intentions in his veins, she had tragic 
memory in hers. When the footsteps paused, and the low 
sound of voices came up, instead, to her ear, she slipped 
from her hiding-place and away to another, chosen before- 
hand in anticipation of this same emergency. 

Alva little guessed that at every meeting she had sup- 
posed clandestine, her old nurse had been present, or at 
least near, and that, on this momentous night of her for- 
tunes, she knelt within a dozen yards of the sofa by the 
fireside, behind a door, inconsidered because not in use, but, 
as Minnie took care to guarantee, perfectly usable. And 
before many minutes had passed, the eavesdropper knew 
that her philosophy had not been at fault. With a thump- 
ing heart she told herself that the time for noting and 
recording was over and gone, and the time for action was 
come. She was something of a fatalist; for in this bitter 
and exacting hour she believed implicitly that her share in 
the fortunes of this dear but unstable family had been pre- 
arranged; and that the claim now made upon her gentle 
nature was as irrestible a force as that from which Alva’s 
being and its needs had been evolved. 

Through long hours of that night she wrestled with her 
problem, and it was not till the dawn was streaking her 
chamber with gray light that she succeeded in getting reso- 
lution into a straight line. For she saw a double wound 
to be healed. She longed, not only to dismiss one man, but 
to reinstate another, and upon the foothold that nothing but 
his own lack of assertiveness — so she believed — had caused 
him to miss. In this woman there lurked behind fear, and 
fatalism too, the divine power to pierce a way through 
layers of outer shell to the genial root of nature. She be- 
lieved, in the face of certain discouraging facts, that Alva 
was as noble a creature as her outward shape implied ; and 


The Virtue of the Mouse 


241 


she insisted that the touch of a certain wand — oddly con- 
structed of prose and magic — would cause the beautiful 
blind eyes to open, were it but fingered with discretion. 

The morning brought a wire from the master of the 
house, delaying his return till the evening of that day, and 
to the two interested in his movements this slight change 
of plan caused unmistakable relief. 

To Alva it conveyed the reassuring thought that her tale 
could be told in a dim light, and that separation would fol- 
low swiftly upon it ; while Minnie’s story belonged yet more 
insistently to the dusk and the night. 

The coachman had stared when she made her strange re- 
quest for a seat in the carriage he was taking to meet his 
master, but his amazement, not quite free from a taint of 
impertinence, left her indifferent; she regarded it as we 
regard the everyday objects in a room in which we are 
about to submit to a serious operation. 

Established, eventually, in a corner of the brougham, she 
drew her cloak closely about her, and under the cloak she 
held to her breast a tiny leather case. So acute was her 
consciousness of its contents that it seemed to her a flame 
burned inside the innocent strip of leather; a flame, in 
which all the happy and careless sensations of the past 
twenty years were to be consumed. Resolutely she shook 
off this numbing condition of mind, and urged into review 
her train of intentions. She longed for her lost youth — 
for the courage that she feared years of inaction must 
have bled from her; for, in the struggle ahead, she knew 
that she would need infinite resource and self-control, if 
she were to save both those beloved points — the honor of 
a woman, the faith of a man. 

There was no moon, only scurrying clouds, dimly to be 
distinguished from the black sky behind them; the wind 
rose in gusts, only to fall again, like a force conscious of 
its own efficacy; the few remaining leaves upon the trees 
that lined the way, rattled at intervals down on to the roof 
of the carriage with a mournful sound. Nowhere was 
there stimulation. Out of her ancient frame must she 


242 


The Virtue of the Mouse 


evolve it, and, like some brave animal at bay against fearful 
odds, she compelled all the powers, natural and cultivated, 
in her being into desperate movement. 

These were truths which she hugged so tightly to her 
breast — truths on which lives had been wrecked and 
founded. But the man she went to face must see deeper 
than the eye of common calculation. He must look below 
surface shame and surface pride. He must not stop and 
shudder at the shipwreck ; he must go further, deeper. He 
must see the deathless spirit of hope in the great element, 
over which successful achievement rides, and into which un- 
successful achievement is temporally submerged; he must 
see reincarnation, not annihilation ; he must see immaturity, 
not corruption. She had no such phrases at command, but 
she had, in her heart, the germ of understanding they en- 
deavor — sometimes so inadequately — to describe. She was 
strong in her honesty, in her untainted devotion to others, 
and, as she neared the station, she felt some of the con- 
fidence she prayed for, flowing, like a river of life, into 
her feeble veins. 

She hoped devoutly that the young baronet’s kind heart 
would not induce him to offer any one a lift, and she listened 
anxiously to the steps approaching the carriage. 

There were four of them, but the two shuffling ones be- 
longed to the porter carrying the bag, and, with a gasp of 
relief, Minnie found herself, a minute later, alone with the 
returned traveler. 

'' It’s only me. Sir Peter,” she said, as he stepped in and 
took the seat opposite her. I’d something to say, and I 
took this opportunity.” 

Something to say? Nothing unpleasant, I hope.” 

For a moment: she made no reply; she was gathering her 
faculties together ; and he leaned forward to get a clearer 
view of her face under the lamp they were about to 
pass. 

‘‘ It’s not bad news, is it, Minnie ? ” 

It’s bad, Sir Peter, as you first look at it, but — there’s 
good behind, I think.” 


The Virtue of the Mouse 243 

He contrived to check an ejaculation of impatience, and 
she spoke again quickly and soothingly. 

Listen quietly, Sir Peter, for it’s no easy tale to tell, 
and Pm no good at putting things fancy fashion, though 
Miss Alva used to say I was. She says she’s going to 
leave you.” 

Again he checked the impulse towards expression. 

It isn’t my place. Sir Peter, to tell you that she doesn’t 
know what she’s saying or doing. She’s mad with her 
fairy fancies, which she says I taught her years ago — God 
forgive me! — though I never thought to do more than 
amuse a child that wasn’t too happy. Anyway, when Mr. 
Anthony Glover says ‘ yes ’ she don’t seem to have the will 
to say ‘ no.’ But there’s some one that can say it for her — 
some one stronger than you and me, though he’s in his 
grave.” 

‘‘ Anthony Glover ! ” her hearer echoed, in a bewilder- 
ment so great as almost to drown his consternation. 

He’s never been to the house, Sir Peter, not till to-night. 
He’s been walking by the river, below the garden, in the 
early mornings, and she’s met him. It was fate that sent 
her there, as it’s fate that kept these letters from the fire.” 

Mechanically he took the case she held out. Vaguely he 
looked down at it, and slowly the passion of outraged pride 
and affection crept across his pleasant features, transform- 
ing them almost out of recognition. 

'' She’s been meeting Glover by the river. For how long, 
Minnie ? ” 

Oh, you’re not going to understand ! ” said the old 
woman wildly ; and she put out two shaking hands towards 
the little leather pocket-book that he held. 

Listen to me. Sir Peter. Listen, I tell you ! Don’t 
listen to your own thoughts — not yet at least, not till you’ve 
read the story here. I couldn’t make up my mind for long 
whether I ought to give them to you or to her. And I give 
them to you, because I think — I hope — you’re different to 
most: stronger, kinder, juster. And if I give them to her, 
it seems to shut you out. Sir Peter ; and there’s a way into 


244 The Virtue of the Mouse 

her heart, though you didn't come on it at once. But it's a 
cruel way. It isn't for me to ask you to be gentle, for you i 
were always gentle from a boy. But don't put the name 
first ; there's more than name goes to the making of human 
souls, and there's more in hers than those cold Danes and 
Fawcetts could give. There's the fierce heart of folks the 
Lord Almighty let rule a long time — some in big houses 
like yours, and some in playhouses — and such don't learn 
easy as their way isn't the only way. You've put her first 
for a long time; put her first just a bit longer — till you've 
read the letters, anyway. Oh, the times I've tried to burn 
them — and — the times he tried! He told me when he lay 
dying. He had the case about his neck, and the doctor 
helped him put it into my hand. Doctors know a dealj 
about us and our weakness, and they don't tell tales neither. 
That young man didn't tell. He talked of delirium to the 
poor scared woman that called herself his wife. She didn’t 
want it called anything else; all she wanted was to get 
away from that bed of horror and the poor maimed creature jc 
on it. It was to me he whispered at the last. He told me ' 
to put them in the fire as he'd tried to do. But it wasn't 
a bit of use; they wouldn't burn — it was like trying tolj 
burn her ; — and I had to put them back in the case, and I 
put the case about my neck and kept it there from that day ; 
to this, and — now — I know why. Sir Peter. Those letters ^ 
weren't meant to be burnt; they hadn’t done their work.j- 
You'll read them to-night, and you'll understand why you , 
can't be hard on Miss Alva, why you can’t think of pride jd 
— why, it isn't all bad news I'm bringing you. For if she- 
reads the story in the right way, it's you she'll cling to' 
in her terror. It's the story of one who crucified the flesh. 
She must read the letters, and I'd like to have her read = 
them in the little play-room. There's something beside dust |i 
and spiders in it, as she's guessed already. There's the 
spirits of dead children, and they'll make the letters plain. 
They'll touch her with their tiny fingers, as they've touched |i 
me times and oft, when I've slipped up in the gloaming.|i 
I'll set a bit fire there to-night, and you must coax her up." jd 


II ■ - ■ ■ ' 

I The Virtue of the Mouse 245 

j I She stopped, looking pleadingly into his face, with its 
llowered eyelids and twitching features. 

• ‘‘ Glover,” he said between his teeth ; but she broke out 

j again into eager defense. 

“ He doesn't matter ; he can't matter, after to-night. It's 
her that matters; it's her we've got to save. When you 
jread you mustn't think of Glover, as she won't any more. 
You must think of the times she wanted to talk to you 
|and you wouldn't let her. There were such times. Sir 
' Peter, times when she was lonely and frightened, when she 
knew that her place in your great house wasn't just what 
folks thought; times when the painted men and women 
tried to tell her of the bond. You'll think of that, Sir 
Peter, and not of the man that doesn't signify.'' 

Touched by the eloquence of one whose devotion he 
had always fancied to be of the mute species — touched, too, 
by some of the impressions and recollections she called up, 
he forced himself to accept, in part, this vast demand upon 
(his natural temper. 

She's here still ? '' he said ; and Minnie nodded. 

“ She'll always be here. Sir Peter, and it's for you to let 
I her be happy here. I can't tell you any more, but the 
I letters will make it clear.” 

■■ In silence they accomplished the remainder of the drive, 

I and as the carriage drew up before the lighted portico, he 
Ileaned forward, touching his companion on the arm. 

I It was kind to come and tell me, Minnie. It's easier 
I to take from you. You're the true friend of my house; 

I that much is clear, though everything else is still damned 
j chaos.” 

She had no word for this cordial if blunt recognition of 
I service. It seemed of such utter inconsequence what he 
felt for her. What was he going to feel towards his wife ? 

She watched him climb the steps and pass through the 
lighted hall; then the carriage was driven round to the 
^ back, and she slipped out and up to her own room, to 
remove her hat and cloak. Then, with scarcely five 
minutes' delay, she went to her mistress, to find her far too 



The Virtue of the Mouse 


246 

deeply wrapped in meditation to blame this tardy appear- 
ance, or even to note those few stolen minutes in the play- 
room, where she lit a fire and reversed the old rocking- 
chair that had stood on its head in a corner for more years 
than Minnie could calculate. 

And, meanwhile, Peter sat in his study, holding the 
leather case in his hand. He would not open it until the 
thought of Glover had been consigned, not to oblivion, but 
to the background of his mind. He had, tacitly, promised 
to bring as open a mind as possible to the consideration of 
these mysterious letters, and he hoped to be able to keep 
that promise. 

When at length he drew them from their covering, there 
floated into the room an unmistakable scent of lavender, 
and, involuntarily, the artificial restraint under which he 
suffered relaxed a little. The vision of many women, 
moving, immature, and ignorant, quick with the desire to 
live, and tormented by the fetters of circumstance, down 
the long pathway of the centuries, came to soften the 
memory of a single false one. Less conscious of himself, 
less conscious of Alva, he began to read this story of long 
ago, so strangely connected with his own day, and, as he 
turned page after page of the thin, crackling notepaper, 
much of his normal air of serenity returned to him. 

When he replaced the letters in the case his hand was 
steady, and the eyes he turned on to the fire were full of 
eager interest. For a full half-hour he sat, formulating, it j 
was to be supposed, the plan of action demanded of him ^ 
by the revelation of the night. It was plain that he saw in -> 
his hands the material out of which great occasions are.^ 
made or marred, and that he had unearthed the will, if not 
the power, to preserve this particular one. His passion had 
disappeared, but an unusual degree of animation and 
resolve warmed his dark eyes, promising some variation of 
habit to the coming hour — the hour in which he was to bat- 
tle with the delirious fancy of the stranger at his gate — 
the girl who stood so passively within the circle of physical 
touch, but who rode so treacherously into the spiritual 


I 


The Virtue of the Mouse 


247 


regions of his innate disdain. Perhaps he saw, what Min- 
, nie had suggested to him, a species of profanity in that 
disdain ; a form of betrayal in that refusal to be drawn by 
her into the complexity of intercourse she found so stimu- 
lating. Perhaps this first recognition of a division of 
responsibility was soothing to his pride; at all events he 
left his study and made his way upstairs with the aspect of 
a man strung up to play the champion of a dear cause 
rather than the avenger of an unpardonable wrong. 

When he entered the vast and melancholy bedroom, 
where so many of the Southern brides must have found 
disillusion, Minnie slipped from behind her mistress’ chair, 
and replaced the ivory brush she had evidently been using 
upon the dressing-table. With one keen look at her 
master’s face, a look that apparently satisfied her, she left 
the room, and Alva turned her fair head, with its two long 
plaits of hair, and looked gravely at her husband. 

‘‘ I’ve something to say to you ” she began, and she 

pointed to the chair drawn up beside her own. 

‘‘ Suppose you let me speak first ? ” he broke in, his 
generous resolution fired into something like zeal by the air 
of irresponsibility emanating from her. She wore a white 
dressing-gown, with bands of fur about it, and the only 
touch of color about her was made by a pair of scarlet 
velvet slippers, in and out of which he could see her feet 
working in a nervous and unfamiliar fashion. 

‘‘ Alva, we began wrong. We’re going to start fresh.” 

But with a gesture that might mean fear or anger, she 
turned abruptly from the face he brought so near her own. 

“ It’s too late, Peter ; it’s just twenty-four hours too late.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


PETER 

Nonplused for the moment, he left it to her to break the 
silence that followed. 

‘‘ You should have spoken sooner. I gave you chances 
enough; but no, you didn't approve my ideas. You were 
impatient with them, or, what was worse, you were patient. 
You drove me into myself; and now, because I've found 
satisfaction and promise there, you come to me and cheer- 
fully suggest we should begin all over again. It's too late, 
I tell you." 

‘‘ It's late, but not too late. I'll own up to the impatience, 
Alva, and to the patience ; but are you really satisfied with — 
with what you've found in yourself? " 

She turned to look at him with some degree of astonish- 
ment. 

Oh ! " he said quickly, ‘‘ I'm not much good at the 
jargon, but that doesn't mean I'm void of all the subtler 
emotions." 

I see," she broke in on him hotly — all the more hotly 
because of an inward twinge of dismay ; it wasn't that 
you couldn't talk to me, it was that you wouldn't then." 

We'll be explicit to-night, Alva. What, exactly, have 
I denied you ? " 

Oh, nothing," she said bitterly, that your world and 
its courts of jurisdiction would recognize. I've had every 
material comfort and attention, and yet — I'm starved. A 
hundred times I've put out feelers to find the individual 
points in you, and each time I've had to draw back again. 
You've clipped every tendency, you've fined down every 
virtue or vice, until your personality is nothing but a smooth 
shaven lawn, and you ask me to disport myself upon it, 

248 


Peter 


249 

jWhy, there’s nothing to play with, nothing to work at, 
nothing to pick, nothing to tend, nothing to destroy. 
I You’ve been by turns my preacher (a mute one) and my 
lapdog, and you only come to me now because some in- 
stinct has told you that I’ve found for myself a way of 
escape.” 

It was irresolution that wrought in her so fervid a passion 
,of revolt. She had suffered the throes of indecision already, 
,and she winced at the memory of the hot iron. It is 
'terrible to fight for what one elects to call life, but it is 
even more terrible to feel an alien hand upon the life-buoy 
one has secured after an almost superhuman struggle. 

‘‘ I’ll own I’ve not been quite fair or quite kind,” he said 
gently. ‘‘ But I will not own that it’s too late to make a 
inew beginning. Come away from this house, Alva, for a 
time. I’m not sure, with you, that it hasn’t an influence — 
to use no more supernatural term. I’m not sure that the 
jghost of my most practical mother doesn’t haunt me here, 
[as a different sort of phantom haunts you. Let’s try an- 
llother spot. Deane will manage all right for the winter.” 

‘‘ Paris — Italy — Egypt,” she scoffed ; '' do you really sup- 
ipose it will be a new story because we give it a new name? 
How long do you suppose it will take to grope our way 
through a little foreign glaze back to the heart of our old 
quarrel? I shall see nothing after a week or two but my 
own conscious face; feel nothing but my own tired body; 
hear nothing but my own bored mind crying, like the clown 
in the pantomime, ‘ Here we are again ! ’ ” 

‘‘ And will Glover manage to silence the clown?” he in- 
quired bluntly. 

‘‘ Some one has told you, Peter ? ” 

Some one has told me, Alva ! ” 

Who ? How ? But what does it matter ? What does 
anything matter except the motive power of our actions ? I 
can’t stay in this house where I’m no wife, where I’ve no 
one to speak to — where the loneliness has unnerved me. 
I used to like it; I used to welcome it so gladly; but now 
it’s all repetition. Even the pictures are silent, scornful. 


Peter 


250 

I stood for an hour in the Gallery to-day, and not a word 
was spoken. They’re tired of me and I of them.” 

‘‘ And Glover will find you others ? ” 

He’ll find me occupation,” she retorted fiercely. He 
gives me sensations, and he condescends to accept them 
again from me. We are always arguing, and yet we never 
quarrel. He is natural, and nature has a thousand aspects. 
Now he is a smiling, summer landscape, beckoning to siesta 
and lazy speculation; now he is a deep and a dark pool, 
neither inviting nor repelling my excursion into the mys- 
tery; now he is a rock on which one may beat one’s head, 
and fear and suffer, without making any impression on his 
phlegm. He is neither aggressive nor subservient; he is 
neither slave nor master. Before my fancy he stands like 
one of those still-featured, smooth-tongued victims of the 
French Revolution, who could trifle and satirize in the 
anteroom of the guillotine. It’s impossible to class them, 
impossible to plumb their self-control, but it’s a liberal edu- 
cation to try.” 

All her old exuberance of imagination was back, and 
now she looked at him with lovely eyes of defiance, with 
her lips curled into that half-smile that spoke so eloquently 
of emancipation. 

I don’t see the impossibility of classing them,” Peter 
answered slowly, hunting his line of argument with the 
ponderous gravity of an unpractised man. ‘‘ What are 
they but the remnants of an aristocracy that failed to keep 
its place in the scheme of creation, spite of a deep root? 
Have you looked beneath the brocade and the ruffles ? Did 
they ever utter anything sounder than an epigram, generally 
as profane as it was witty? And are you quite sure that 
their contempt for death was not merely the result of a 
lack of imagination? It’s shared, remember, by the least 
civilized of nations; and to my mind, perhaps fairly, and 
perhaps unfairly, that attitude you find so impressive re- 
calls, pretty forcibly, the ‘ I don’t care ’ of the nursery 
rebel; I always said it myself, with a lost cause in front 
and an uncomfortable conscience behind.” 


Peter 


251 


He smiled sourly at the astonishment with which she was 
regarding him. 

'' You didn’t expect me to understand these niceties of 
argument, did you ? ” 

“ If you understand them, Peter, how do you dare to 
despise them?” 

‘‘They lead nowhere.” 

“ And where do you suppose this first real talk of ours is 
going to lead ? ” she asked satirically. 

“ It’s going to lead you out of danger. Are you such a 
baby as not to realize the price this fellow asks for his — his 
damned story of eternal occupation ? The pictures in 
my Gallery are of men and women who lived straight, kind 
lives; who didn’t ask for more than their share of amuse- 
ment. They tire you, do they? You mean to go and look 
at Glover’s Gallery; it’s long enough, considering his age 
and his opportunities, if scandal is to be believed. You’ll 
find variety, I don’t doubt; but, have you considered for a 
moment the way out, as well as the way inf 

“ The way out, Peter ? Do you dare to insinuate that this 
is just an episode?” 

“ That’s certainly all it can possibly be to him.” 

“ You’re jealous,” she declared passionately, “ of a power 
that has passed you over.” 

“ Well, put it so if you like. I’ll try and leave Glover 
out as far as possible. You’ve talked of love, Alva, for this 
house of mine.” 

“ I meant to love it, I did love it — until — until ” 

“ You’re going to betray it,” he interrupted coolly. 
“ You’ve often spoken of the spirit of tradition in it, 
of the chain of ancestry, of a great name handed down, 
untarnished, from century to century. You’ve been 
angry with me because I didn’t encourage your elo- 
quence, because I objected to be regarded in the light 
of a link rather than a man, but in the end, it is you who 
want to snap the chain and tarnish the record, and for 
no better reason than that you’ve been forced to 
yawn.” 


252 Peter 

Again she looked at him in wonder, and again he an- 
swered the look. 

You see, it's only a question of a little practice, and 
your youths of the First Empire practised nothing else, 
save perhaps sword-play. Give me a week, and Fll under- 
take to master all the verbal thrust and parry you find so 
exhilarating." 

I've told you it's too late, Peter. I've been tormented 
enough by uncertainty, and you never spoke. I've made 
up my mind at last, and I won't — I can't unmake it — 
because you're frightened into concession. I've given my 
word." 

‘‘ You gave it me first, Alva." 

‘‘ No. Granny gave it to you. I wasn't awake then." 

You're not awake now. You're dreaming of a fan- 
tastic marriage of souls. I've a strong sense of wrong 
against you. I'm fighting it all the time I'm pleading with 
you. There's a natural beast in me that wants to turn 
away and tell you to go where you please, that actually 
wants to gloat over the knowledge that Glover would more 
than revenge that sense of wrong for me, but I daren't give 
way to it. I can't let you go, because you're not re- 
sponsible. You haven't begun to think yet. You're a 
dream-lady playing at being real. When the dream gets too 
absurd, he won't be kind to you, because he hasn't learned 
to love the woman underneath as I have. Stay with me, 
Alva ; I can't give you such a wealth of fancies to play with, 
but — I've found two or three to-night, and I'll find more. 
There's a book, indeed there is, in every heart, even in mine. 
There's a pool of dark thoughts (how dark, I didn't guess 
myself until to-night) where you can fish for unsuspected 
things, and a rock on which you can beat that dear head, 
to the point, at least, where pain begins, and I can't help 
thinking you'll find it far enough. Alva, you'll stay with 
me. You won't sell your folly to that beast, my name to 
that betrayer, yourself to misuse." 

He tried to catch her hands, but she thrust him off. 

‘‘ Leave me alone, Peter. If I'm only absurd, after all, 


Peter 


253 

it ought to be easy enough. You may be a book of sorts, 
but Fm deep in another now. You may learn what you 
call my ' jargon/ but you’ll never care for it. We shall 
never meet, except by making concessions. You’ll go back 
to your old self once you fancy your honor safe, and I 
should have to go back to my solitude. It’s no use patching 
and pretending; it’s no use making great resolutions, only 
to go back on them. If you love me, if you care for my 
happiness, make my going easy. It’s the last and it’s the 
only kindness I’ll take from you.” 

He knew that he was beaten, and by the strength of his 
own disappointment he could gauge the quality of his hope 
that the tale of the night need come no nearer to her than 
his own enlightenment brought it. He had counted, too 
confidently, it seemed, upon the secret virtue in his long 
silent tongue ; the rare effort had astonished her, it had even 
disturbed her, but the spell against him was too strong. 
Look where he would, it was to see now no way of escape 
for her, save the one Minnie had revealed. 

The play-room, with its incongruously innocent aspect, 
must indeed play that anteroom to the guillotine of which 
she had babbled with such ridiculous appreciation. This 
still dear, but temporarily foolish, creature must be given 
to the wolves, for an hour at least. She was adult and she 
was criminal. She vowed — just a trifle too aggressively, 
perhaps, to convince — that she was not his in any sense 
worth the name, but, for all that, his heart contracted at the 
thought of her in the grip of this unexpected and terrible 
revelation, against the significance of which her childish 
egoism would, indeed, have to beat its head to the point of 
pain. 

When do you go ? ” he said abruptly. 

To-morrow, at mid-day.” 

‘‘ Then, for another twelve hours or so, you belong to 
me.” 

‘‘ I suppose so, in a way — ^but— surely your pride says 
‘ hands off.’ ” 

No. It says something very different. I don’t mean to 


Peter 


254 

intrude myself upon you, but I want you to read these 
letters. You’re to read them very carefully, and in the 
little play-room upstairs. Minnie has lit a fire there. It 
was Minnie who gave them to me, who told me of your 
intention.” 

She stared nervously at him. 

The play-room,” she murmured vaguely and mechani- 
cally, as she submitted to his guiding hand and let herself 
be drawn from her seat towards the door behind the cur- 
tain. ‘‘ Peter, I don’t understand.” 

'' You’ll understand soon enough.” 

Alarming as this attitude was, it could not but appeal to 
her love of adventure. As she stumbled in his wake up 
the long flight of narrow steps, her heart was beating with 
as much excitement as fear, and when she reached the room 
above, she looked about her in a dazed but expectant 
fashion. 

There was a lamp upon the dwarf chimneypiece, and for 
the first time she saw the cheery leap of flames in the dilapi- 
dated fireplace. The chair before it looked inviting, and she 
sank on to it readily at his instigation. 

For an instant he remained, gazing down at her, his face 
white and preternaturally grave, then, without a word, he 
turned and left the room; but just before he turned, he 
dropped the little leather case into her lap. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE HISTORY OF THE BLACK PEARL 

July 2gth, 1879, 

Rue de L’ 

Dieppe. 

Dear Mr. Southern, — I have been a long time writing 
to acknowledge those three delightful letters, but you are not 
to call me neglectful or ungrateful. I have been thinking 
a great deal of you and your home and the happy time you 
gave me in it. Pve been trying to decide what answers to 
give to your questions. Shall they be honest or dishonest ? 

‘‘ Even with the pen in my hand, I am not sure which of 
the two spirits watching over me will get its way. 

''What am I doing? Well, I am going from one gay 
watering place to another, and I am coming into contact 
with a number of people. What sort of life am I leading? 
That's surely the same question, in another shape ; but it is 
not so easy to answer, for, truly, I don't seem to be leading 
anything, least of all anything so vast and pitiless as life. 
To myself I seem to be a picture — father's picture, at which 
he is always looking through half-shut eyes, like an artist 
at his masterpiece, wondering how it is going to strike his 
great patron, the public. Now you are frowning, but the 
grandmother is smiling. I told you about her. I showed 
you her face in the locket round my neck. She has been 
there ever since I was seven years old. She is the mother 
of my father, and you said I was very like her. You said 
many kind things to me, but none quite so kind as that. 
For she might have been your grandmother. You might 
have taken her to your Long Gallery, and she would have 
looked at the fine folks there with the same half-sweet, 
half-proud expression with which she looked out at you 

255 


256 The History of the Black Pearl 

and me from the gilt circle, and they would have looked 
back as at an equal. Even at seven years old I knew 
she was not our equal — father’s and mine. She never came 
to us and we never went to her, and father would not speak 
of her. But I was a little pitcher with very long ears, and 
I had a nursemaid called Anna. From her I learnt, by lis- 
tening and coaxing, that though a grandmother is a near 
relation there is a yet nearer one. It seemed I had a 
mother, who could never go into anybody’s Long Gallery. 
She belonged first to a wine-shop in Paris, then to a troupe 
of traveling players, then to a great many other things I 
couldn’t understand at all then, and don’t very well under- 
stand now. Then, for a time — such a short time, she be- 
longed to father ; she was his wife and she was my mother. 
But I cried a great deal and made her head ache, and 
presently she went back to the mystery out of which she 
came; but it was she who made the story of our lives so 
ugly. When people have been hurt and betrayed, when 
those they love more than reason play them false, they do 
wild and foolish things in their longing to escape from 
memory. Father went to the green tables, where there is 
plenty of noise and plenty of laughter and excitement and 
the chance of making a fortune. We are princes one day 
and beggars the next. Often we live in grand hotels, and 
often we slip out of our fine rooms in the night and fly to 
others, where, again, we order the best of everything and 
trust to the green tables to pay. It was in one of these 
big hotels that we met your father, and I think he was 
sorry to see a girl so young as I in such a strange position. 
He spoke kindly to me, and one evening he accepted father’s 
invitation to our rooms. 

‘‘ And there, on an impulse I think, he gave that wonderful 
invitation to visit him in his home. There are people who 
will tell you that it was more kind than wise to ask us under 
his roof, and they will tell you the truth ; for you belong 
to honesty and we belong to fraud, and you must never 
again come very near us, as one never ought to go very 
near a person with an infectious disease. But I will write 


The History of the Black Pearl 257 

to you just twice a year, and you shall answer and tell me 
that Mx^ Calder is alive (if it is life he lives in that great 
room full of books), and that Mrs. Meadows is making 
the pot-pourri; you shall tell me it was no midsummer 
dream into which I came, and that you are real — a man 
with a sun-brown face, going out into the forest to hunt 
some creature he is far too kind to want to catch and kill. 

And now the letter is written, and it was the spirit of 
the lost grandmother who won the day, who forces me to 
sign myself your grateful friend of a summer only. 

Gwendolen Lacy."^ 

Alva raised sparkling eyes from the perusal of this docu- 
ment. It flattered her to realize that her instinct had been 
true, had pierced a way through the obstinate silence about 
her, to this very point chance now condescended to reveal. 

Eagerly she picked up the second letter. 

'^August, 1881 , 

"" Villa Inconnue, 
Switzerland. 

Dear George, — You will be angry that I again conceal 
my address, but you talked of following me, and that I will 
never allow. 

‘'You ask me in your letter if my second visit to The 
Court was a disappointment, and I am afraid my answer 
must be ‘ yes.’ But you are not to think that it was you or 
yours who failed to give a cordial welcome ; it was not. It 
was I who failed in the power to accept it. You see, George, 
I am two years older than on that first occasion, and I have 
had two extra years in my school of adventure. 

“ At seventeen I am a woman, a wise woman, a horribly 
wise woman. Not the woman for you, George. The grand- 
mother says so. You used to laugh at our mimic compan- 
ionship, hers and mine, but it is very real for all that, and 
she is very real, though she has gone now, without a word 
of pity or understanding. It is she who draws the line so 
firmly between us, for she is of the old school, dear. My 


258 The History of the Black Pearl 

father was the apple of her eye, but she never forgave. 
And her justification is in the Bible too; the punishment 
must go down to the third and fourth generation — the pun- 
ishment of weakness and frailty, the punishment of my 
dead mother and my living father, of myself, of my unborn 
children. 

I wasn’t strong enough to keep my promise ; I had to 
come back into your fairy house and all it offered me ; but 
I’m strong enough to say ' no ’ to your wonderful offer, and 
wise enough to understand that it is not cruelty I give you 
in exchange for those dear pages of appeal. 

Now you rage, and now you laugh at the line of 
division, but you haven’t lain awake for long hours of the 
night, learning all that it means. 

You have never seen anything but love, or at least 
respect, on the faces about you ; I have never seen anything 
but a smirk. You wouldn’t like to see that smirk, George, 
on the faces of your friends when you presented your wife 
to them. For a time your anger would be for those who 
refused to pay her homage, but presently, against your 
will, it would be for the one who brought the curse upon 
the house. 

‘‘You call me hard, but I’m not that. There are times 
when I’m tempted to forget everything but the pleasure 
and the promise of the hour. I wake in the early morning 
and I look to the east, where the sun is getting up, with 
the dogstar at his side, just as he used to do only a week 
ago at The Court, and the ache in my breast is almost un- 
endurable. I want the woods below my window, and your 
voice calling me into them, and the feel of your hand as 
you pull me through the thick undergrowth. I want you — 
the first chum I ever had. But I lost you the day that I 
turned you into a lover. It’s right and just, for I did it 
wantonly. You would have been sorry for me, kind to me, 
but you would never have written those imploring letters if 
— if — I hadn’t made you. How ? When ? Why ? God 
— no — the devil knows — or the woman in the wine-shop. 
You certainly didn’t. You only understood after I had gone 


The History of the Black Pearl 259 

away. I stole from you so deftly, with such a child-like 
air of innocence, it was impossible to tell, until you found 
yourself alone with an empty heart, that you had been de- 
spoiled. 

And so it’s ‘ no,’ and it’s the kindest word I’ve ever said 
to you, and it’s ^ good-bye,’ which means : ‘ I keep you in 

my heart, though not in my life,’ and, for the last time, I 
sign myself, — Your loving Gwenny.” 

Alva looked up from the reading of this letter, with her 
first hint of distress. Why, she paused to ask herself, had 
these lines fallen into her hands on this momentous night 
of her own fortunes? The veil was growing very thin be- 
tween her intuition and the secret that had for so long 
magnetized it. Shivering a little as with a premonition of 
what was coming, she turned to the remaining sheets in her 
lap, and with an effort to steady the trembling of her hands, 
embarked upon the topmost one. 


August 6 th, 1882. 

‘‘ Dear George, — ^You did very wrong to force from 
others the address that I refused you, but I, too, did wrong 
when I broke that solemn vow, and came a third time into 
the house I swore to spare. 

‘‘ In all the fairy-tales, three is the fatal number, and oh ! 
it was indeed in our case. You say I can’t help myself — 
you talk of duty binding us, but, dear George, I haven’t yet 
made plain the sort of stuff you want to weave into the 
web of your life. 

You haven’t guessed it, but there are natures so con- 
structed, that, with all the will in the world to be just and 
kind, they are bound to move in a sidelong fashion, or in a 
circle. They never get anywhere. Now those pink-and- 
white ancestresses of yours had their whims and fancies; 
they shed their tears and pouted their prejudices, but they 
agreed to be urged in one direction, either by their pride 
of nature or their pride of race, or by an experienced 
mother. 


26o The History of the Black Pearl 

‘‘ And we give this constitutionally forward movement 
many names, but it has always one result; a bulwark is 
formed against the dangerous tide of human passion; a 
house stands as your does, and gathers beneath its shadow 
the fortunes of many smaller ones, less securely built. 
Your wife, dear, is more, far more, than the charmer of 
your fancy. She is the star to which all the weak and 
feebly educated on your estate have to look up. At this 
point I can almost hear you say : ‘ But these are noble 
thoughts, and they are hers, and — so — she must be noble.' 
But no — for here comes the serpent into the sweet garden. 
I have the eye to see and the heart to understand, but I am 
no simple cup to hold the wine of life in trust for the thirsty. 
I am the child of a play-actress — of a woman who could 
touch the sublime and the ridiculous, and yet remain the 
enemy of civilization. She could draw tears and smiles, 
remorse and virtue, from those she spoke to, but her power 
was evil, and my power over you is evil. It is not by good- 
ness that I draw you, it is by fascination. I have a strange 
look and strange movements; you cannot fathom them or 
me, and it is wonder that goes a-hunting. I told you that 
it was I who turned my friend into my lover, and when I 
had him at my mercy, I spoke grandly of resignation. It 
was only talk, George; I came back at the first hint of 
pressure — ^to the woodland, to the dear deluded boy. The 
game was unfinished, and it was too exciting to give up. 
The game — do you hear? Do you understand at last the 
nature of the barrier between us? It was a game to me, 
and though I can't deny my heart was in it, the hearts of 
such creatures as myself are in many things. The play- 
actress is at once true to all and true to none; each charac- 
ter has its hour — no more, no less. 

‘‘ Listen — for here lies your road to liberty, and, as a 
man of honor, you will be obliged to take it. It was two- 
thirds love of adventure, and one-third love of you that 
drove me, on tiptoe, that momentous night, up to the play- 
room under the roof. I passed your door softly, but not 
so softly, George, as to fail to arouse the sleepless lover 


The History of the Black Pearl 261 

that the morning was to rob. I tell you it was artistic 
hunger, and not great human necessity that lured me to 
the spot where we had spent so many happy and inno- 
cent hours. I flew to my first lover, not to my only 
lover, and, if I played my part with zeal, with tears, with 
passion, is it to be wondered at, seeing of what stock I 
come? 

“ We set the window open, and there were roses tapping 
at the pane, filling the room with their scent. There was 
no moon, but there was the faint blue of a summer night, 
and your face looked unfamiliar by it. You thought to see 
the finger of providence in that meeting, but I tell you it 
was the common stage, set up in every little fancy fair, for 
the common representation of most common passions. It 
was a game — an enchanting game; and I shall carry the 
memory of it to my grave with me, but not into everyday life. 
For to me it was an incident. There will be others, and 
marriage is the next. I undertake it gladly ; it cuts so many 
knots. Even the grandmother is pleased, for he is a free 
man, though rich. He hurts no one by his chance. There 
is no history connected with his name, save the history of 
his father’s and his own financial shrewdness. And you 
will marry too, George. You will go down those count- 
less stairs — far down to where the wise people sit in the 
rooms of state ; and she will be waiting — take my word for 
it, she will be waiting for you — the wife for whom you will 
never have to blush or fight. She’ll love you a little less 
hotly, maybe, but she’ll love you longer, George ; and I give 
you to her — no — I force you on to her, in the name of all 
that’s fair and fit and pre-ordained. 

“It isn’t quite the world we thought it was going to be 
on those summer mornings, but it’s good enough for people 
of sanity. There are other woods than yours, with magic 
scent and magic birds and beasts. I’m going away to find 
such an one. I’m to have a year of freedom; I bought it 
with my promise; and he — the man whose life I am to 
share — is not afraid to let me go. He knows I shall not 
break my word to him, for it’s not the sort of promise I 


262 The History of the Black Pearl i 

made to you. It’s a solid bond of mutual interest. Wince j 
at it, sneer at it — but there it is, not to be upset, like all my : 
finest resolutions, by an impulse. ' 

‘‘ Call it a tribute to our idyll, if the ache in your heart 
grows unbearable — for a year I will touch no other hand in 
love. Or, if there’s anger enough in your veins (and I 
pray there may be), call it a spurt into action of that gipsy 
blood my mother left me with. I’m going into some remote 
corner of the earth, with an honest, stupid German peasant 
girl. I’m to be cut off even from the postman. There’s 
no friend you could bribe to betray my hiding-place, for 
I’ve trusted none. And long before the time of solitude 
is over, the fever will be out of your blood, and you will 
have learned to say : 

‘‘ ‘ She was very dear and very impossible ; and for what I 
and my children have escaped, the Lord make me truly 
thankful.’ ” 

The letter fluttered to the ground, whither its prede- 
cessors had fallen, and Alva stared, fascinated with horror, 
at the one still remaining in her lap. Here was the final 
revelation, waiting to put the climax to this drama her 
fancy had painted in such different colors. Many sus- 
picions and convictions hovered about her ingenious mind, 
but none would settle, so violent was her recoil from the 
lurid picture just presented to her. Was it possible that a 
creature so instinct with gentle feeling should be able thus 
to divide susceptibility from its inspiring force? Did the 
blood of a play-actress really answer such a riddle and 
satisfy such a man? What lay behind that cry for a year 
of mourning? The last letter was to tell, and it was very 
long, longer than all the rest. 

'‘Jan, 10th, 1883. 

And then without name or address : — 

‘'We are trapped by what the agnostics call the laws 
of nature, but which my reason calls the laws of God. 
That impious cry of mine, ‘ so far and no farther,’ is to be 
treated as the waves treated the command of Canute. 


The History of the Black Pearl 263 

! I lied to you, and I thought to have my excuse, but it 
; would take a wiser head than yours or mine to say 
now where noble resignation ended and romantic folly 
began. 

‘‘ Perhaps if I had in me the power to stick to the lie — ^to 
pay the full price of it, I should be justified; but, George, 
I haven’t. 

Here’s the flaw in sexual love : it will bear so much 
, and no more; it will bear many of the ills flesh is heir to, 
but not all. I thought I was strong enough to live the 
scorn of your intelligence, the lover of any one — of every 
one ; but I’m not. I can only live co-victim with you of the 
rude forces of nature, for you were no incident. How 
could I write the word? and how — how could you ever be- 
lieve it? But it’s not reproach I send you, it’s the story — 
the awful unexpected story that is too heavy for me to bear 
alone. 

I came, as I promised you, into a remote corner of the 
earth. I came when the summer was far gone, and when 
all things seemed as nerveless and lethargic as myself. 

I Gradually the few invaders from the cities drifted back to 
their work, and I was left with none but peasant faces 
round me. 

‘‘ The common, civilized points of view were concealed. 
Days came and went in melancholy sequence. Nature was 
dying, without pain and without protest. I used to gaze, 

, for hours at a time, at the leaves as they fluttered down to 
I carpet the moist earth. When the sun shone, the yellow 
! ones turned to gold and the dull browns to copper ; but 
these brilliant colors seemed incongruous, even cruel, like 
I gaily dressed persons at a funeral. 

‘‘ My story is coming very slowly, but you must remem- 
ber that nature told it to me more slowly still. It took a 
long time to disentangle anything personal out of this 
panoramic display of death. 

Sometimes I looked away from the grim sorceress ; I 
looked into my glass, but the pale face there made no im- 
pression on my imagination. I looked down at my hands. 


264 The History of the Black Pearl 

and found the veins showing in unfamiliar fashion. I 
looked at the ring you put on one of the fingers, and the 
black pearl was melancholy and unbeautiful as myself. 

'' Sometimes I removed the ring and read the motto of 
your house : ' Ne cede mails,' but always with the same 
dazed feeling of inconsequence. I was not yielding^to evil, 
but, like the year itself, to inertia. I was passive, until — 
oh, be patient! the story is coming at last — until the first 
frost crept into the forest. Then in me, too, there came a 
stir, an impulse. A first rush of life into long paralyzed 
limbs is painful, but at first the pain was welcome. It was 
stimulating, and I was growing weary of inaction. 

Soon I was a living, pulsing being again, more sentient, 
I think, than I had ever been before. I looked into the 
gloomy forest, and saw it young and green again. Under 
the glass upon the mountain lakes and streams I caught 
the sound of the subdued laughter of imprisoned powers. 
The dead leaves crackled under my feet, but it was of 
resurrection. Nothing doubted, nothing was afraid; it 
was all a question of time and patience. Thinking of St. 
George’s, Hanover Square, one had to smile, for these nat- 
ural aisles, under which one walked so boldly, were com- 
posed of pillars in which miraculous essence lay concealed. 

Society seemed a tiny speck on the horizon line, but, 
like the cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, this speck 
suddenly began to grow ; and then it grew until the whole 
heaven was overcast, for it was an echo from the outside 
world — no more, no less — that brought the deluge on my 
helpless head. 

It came through a couple of tourists, seeking, as I had 
sought, the untrodden ways. They dropped a fashionable 
paper in their rooms, and, after their departure, the inn- 
keeper found and sent it round to the English lady, who 
looked, I don’t doubt, in heed of some tonic. She obtained 
two pieces of information out of it. One was a month or 
two old, the other brand new. Old Sir George Southern 
was dead, and young Sir George, in spite of (perhaps be- 
cause of) his mourning, was about to take Bertha Venner 


The History of the Black Pearl 265 

to wife. It was ‘ the King is dead ; long live the King ! ' 
with a vengeance. But under all the agony there is a 
grain of comprehension, George. You went too fast down 
those hundreds of steps; but, was it to be wondered at, 
when the spirit of the play-room spoke so cruelly and so 
falsely? You fled to the fine lady, and perhaps she came 
halfway up to meet you. My pride will write the tale 
that way, at all events. You were always dependent for 
your happiness on human sympathy, and your trust and 
your simplicity had been tampered with — tainted. You 
had to touch some kind and reassuring hand, and hers was 
nearest. 

‘‘ Oh, I understood, but the shock was too much for me. 
I was ill for weeks, and I put off the hour of explanation. 
I never dreamt of a speedy marriage (there are many now 
who say you didn't either). I thought Bertha would never 
agree to be married quietly; but in that I misjudged her. 
I thought there was time to spare — time to get strong, be- 
fore I sat down and wrote the letter that should bring you 
back to me. For I meant to bring you back. I was bound 
to call you back, by all the laws of fair-play. I was 
actually writing to you when the news came, the news of 
your sudden marriage. I had put myself, a week or so 
before, in communication with Minnie, my old friend at 
The Court, and it was from her I heard it. 

‘‘ Then indeed the darkness of utter despair closed over 
me. I called wildly to Minnie, but she could not come, for 
she was going through deep waters of her own. She had 
married disastrously, and she too was to bring a child into 
the world. She promised to come to me as soon as she 
should be strong again, but I could not wait. The forest 
was a friend no more. I craved for the kindly touch of 
human hands, for the pleasant sound of English voices. I 
came to England. I sent my little German maid away, and 
went to Derbyshire, to Minnie's old home, where her 
mother had a cottage. The woman was nearly mindless, 
and she tended me with the mechanical devotion that is 
so soothing to a distracted mind. 


266 The History of the Black Pearl 

Now you must listen closely, for the story is no more 
of fancies but of facts; it is the true story of many lives, 
though the world is not to hear it — only you, who must 
suffer with me, as you cannot have happiness with me. 

‘‘ First there was the death of Minnie’s child, caused, 
they say, by the brutality of her drunken husband. He was 
shipped to the Colonies, as you will know, and she was 
called to play foster-mother to Emmy Dane’s little girl ; for 
Emmy died when the child came, at her mother’s flat in 
Pont Street, and you, who know something of the Dane 
marriage, will perhaps be no more surprised than I was 
at Emmy giving up the ghost. Even Mrs. Fawcett must 
have felt some sort of compunction at the result of her 
match-making, for when Minnie arrived she was in bed 
with nervous break-down, and George Dane had fled 
promptly to the Continent. Soon she had the reins of gov- 
ernment in her kind, capable hands; she managed every- 
body, the doctor included, and by-arid-by she saw her way 
to answer my imploring letters, as well as the appealing cry 
of the baby in her arms. It was very delicate, and Minnie 
had reason on her side when she asked to take it into her 
country air. The grandmother was thankful to be released 
from that reproachful wail for a time; and on a day in 
spring I went to the station to meet my only friend and her 
charge. 

It was a day of sunshine and soft sweet air. There 
were lambs in all the meadows, looking white as driven 
snow beside their grimy mothers. I was ready to see hope 
in everything that day — until I saw the wizened face behind 
the veil that Minnie raised so cautiously. There was death 
in that face, thou^ we fiercely denied it to one another. 
We spoke of the magic of the hill air, and we tended the 
tiny creature zealously. A doctor came each morning from 
the nearest village in the valley below. He belonged to 
what is called the old school, and, happily, it is nearly mori- 
bund. He had but few ideas and opinions left in his white 
head, and he was unaffectedly glad of ours; but Minnie 
knew, and I knew, that it mattered little whether he were 


The History of the Black Pearl 267 

wise or foolish. If the mountain air and our devotion 
failed to bring an impetus into those dull veins, no earthly 
man of science could achieve the miracle. And the child 
passed out with no sharper protest than a sigh, and, not 
many hours later, my little girl came in to take the empty 
place. 

'' I couldn't tell you, if I tried, how the idea of definite 
intrigue came to us, though I think it was the unconscious 
baby who first brought it. She took so gladly to all that the 
other had forsaken : to the luxurious cot, to our smiles and 
blandishments, to the despoiled Minnie, for I was too weak 
to nurse her myself. And the foolish doctor had been ac- 
customed to call me by any name that came uppermost. I 
was Mrs. Dane or Mrs. Brand (Minnie's married name), 
or, just occasionally, Mrs. Foster — the name I called my- 
self. It was Minnie who told the lies necessary to the posi- 
tion, and signed the death certificate; and when the mist 
began to clear away from my faculties (for I had been very 
ill) I found the position captured. We said very little 
about it to one another, but I knew by the look on my 
nurse's face that she would stick to the tale she had told — 
the tale that nobody seemed to question, and she was not 
ashamed of it or afraid of it. Almost she persuaded me by 
her manner that necessity is not only the mother of inven- 
tion but the legitimate mother of it. 

There's the story, George, the terrible, audacious, un- 
finished story. For the little girl who went back to the flat 
in Pont Street and a delighted grandmother is ours; and 
though she's saved to her class, it's far from certain she'll 
be happy in the nest we stole for her. She’ll breathe our 
thoughts in an incongruous place — she won't understand the 
flesh-pots; she'll be hurt, punished, puzzled, and we must 
not put out an understanding finger. Duplicity has to pay 
the price like everything else, and only time can prove the 
value of our momentous lie. 

‘‘ Why have I told you what can only torture and 
frighten ? Because, as I said at the beginning, our love has 
its limit. I must bring you into the horrible circle where I 


268 The History of the Black Pearl 

revolve so fearfully. I must be bound to you by something, 
even if it’s only a mutual sense of dismay. 

‘‘ Bertha has the name and the ring — the plain ring, that 
is to say. The black pearl is to stay upon my finger until 
I learn the real lesson of renunciation, and then I shall give 
it up. 

“ Bertha will give you children you may love in the open, 
but for every tender word and look you bestow on them you 
are to set aside just such another for the child of your first 
love. You are to steal sometimes to the little play-room 
and call, oh so softly ! We shall come, George — she and I. 
We’re not revengeful. It is the world that has treated 
us hardly, not you, dearest and kindest, who were despoiled 
in your hour of weakness, as Samson in his sleep. 

Soon my year of liberty will be over, and I must go 
back to keep my word. I’m not sorry to go. I want a 
definite and unassailable prison wall to keep my wild heart 
and its longings within bounds. And I’m not altogether un- 
happy. You’re not to think it. In a sense you’re mine, as 
the grandmother in the locket was mine. 

‘‘ This letter is to go into the fire, but the thought of 
Gwenny is to go deep down into your heart ; it’s to be kept 
beautiful in spite of all the terrible memories in which it is 
to be wrapped. 

“ My face is to be always young, always kind, always 
turned to yours.” 


V 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN 


Abruptly as it had begun, the document ended. 

The story was over, and Alva began binding the sheets 
together, stooping to pick up those that had fallen to the 
floor. When all were safe once more in the faded pocket- 
book, she looked up, staring fixedly into the shadowy corner 
of the room. 

She had trembled at the premonition of danger, but, 
though the actual attack must have surpassed the wildest 
promise of her imagination, oddly enough it left her, for 
I the moment, at least, cool and collected. So astounding 
was the revelation, so illimitable were the vistas of new 
countries opened out by it, that the threat to her material 
welfare passed unobserved. 

To do her folly justice, the vaunt of spiritual independ- 
' ence was not all profane. Her passion for the seats of the 
1 mighty was romantic and intellectual rather than mundane, 

1 and there were few depths of mental anguish and shame into 
which she was not prepared to follow this unexpected and 
tragic figure of a progenitress. She had recoiled from the 
confession of ignominy, with which the ineffectual martyr 
had striven to erect a barrier between herself and happi- 
ness, but the lapse from conventional law, out of which this 
train of events (her own life included) had sprung, caused 
her no sense of revolt. 

It was without effort and without disdain that she crept 
down towards that circle of pain in which Gwenny lay 
huddled, the victim of her own too involved construction. 

At first the sympathy was analytical rather than emo- 
It was engrossing to trace, at last, the source of 
269 


tional. 


270 The Hour Before the Dawn 

that mysterious stream on which she had floated so con- 
stantly and so far. The influence of the house was ex- 
plained. Had it not been her cradle in all the finer senses 
of the term? Explained, too, was something of her own 
temperament. Was she not at once a great lady and a 
gipsy — aristocrat and bohemian? Nature had planned her 
out as a battlefield for the whims and passions of circum- 
stances, sundered as the poles. There were hundreds of 
memories flocking to disgorge their contributions at the feet 
of this wonderful discovery, and eagerly she groped among 
them for the most pregnant. There was the picture in the 
Gallery, before which she had stopped so often, from which 
Minnie had always scurried away, like a scared rabbit. 
Now she understood. The face had been too familiar to 
be recognized ; she had seen it daily in her glass ; the brown 
eyes, warm with dreams ; the long white neck, bent a little 
to the side and a little to the back, throwing forward the 
chin and the mouth with its slightly parted lips. It was 
the very closeness of the secret that had worsted her in- 
genuity. She had been too near to get a general effect. 

And, presently, a yet more vital memory came to her — 
the memory of Griselda — the child whom he might love in 
the open. She recalled the night in the conservatory: the 
dim light, the brief battle. More than once it had caused 
her vanity a stab to recall the ease with which the simple 
girl (so she described her) had directed the destiny of her- 
self, the complex one. They had spoken of sacrifice, but 
Alva had always repudiated the term in her inmost con- 
sciousness. Even her own need of definite movement had 
failed quite to satisfy, as she sat waiting for the man she 
had pledged herself to accept. Now the matter was com- 
prehensible. Griselda had been the inconsequent tool. 
She had touched the spring, but the god in the machine 
was older, wilier than a schoolgirl crying for a first lover. 
Griselda had talked of The Court — of the men and women 
who would not die; but countless nursemaids had told the 
self-same tale to innumerable children; the assertions, of 
themselves, were valueless, unproven. But now she real- 


The Hour Before the Dawn 271 

ized that it was the atmosphere invoked which had the 
power to breed in both their fancies. Griselda had spoken 
— to a sister. 

Consciously in one heart, unconsciously in the other, was 
a passion for this old house. It spoke from the first, with 
the petulance of an acknowledged sense of wrong; from 
the second, with the vigor of an emotion that could find no 
ground of justification, save in the shadow of occultism. 

It was soothing to Alva’s pride to understand that she 
had been worsted by an invisible and powerful army, not 
by an eloquent little half-sister. 

But this sensation was the last of its pleasant kind she 
was to experience for some time. At the thought of her 
new kindred, the memory of Anthony swept suddenly 
across her mind, like a sheet of fire, and it was only by an 
effort that she restrained her cry. 

‘‘ A brother ! ” she muttered, and realized, upon the mo- 
ment, the nature of that vaunt of self-control each had been 
so quick to call an individual superiority to the herd. With 
a shudder she released her grip of the leather case, and it 
fell to the floor. She looked down at it as one looks at a 
snake in the grass, fearing a movement, incapable of making 
one towards escape. 

To avoid the pit of destruction by so frail a chance ! She 
thought of his own words: We’ll draw it fine — our line 

of adventure.” How little he had dreamt that, at that very 
moment, they were balanced on a gossamer thread above 
annihilation ! 

These letters were meant for the fire. What great and 
secret hand had held them back? What great and secret 
mind, forecasting the need of the future, had preserved 
these sole witnesses of an impediment to their union before 
which social condemnation paled into insignificance? 

Alva had succumbed to more intangible influences than 
that of religion, and suddenly an appreciation of her long 
course of profanity struck her into terror. These were 
not fairies that filled the room, they were avenging, out- 
raged spirits. Was there no advocate among them? 


272 The Hour Before the Dawn 

Gwenny/’ she called softly, wildly. ‘‘ Gwenny, dear 
little friend, dear little mother. Come to me. You love 
me, that's why you let me go. You came to my wedding. 
Oh, I haven't forgotten. I saw you, I felt your kiss, and 
is wasn't like the rest. I hadn't time then to guess why; 
I was asleep ; but now I'm waking, and to a world that hates 
me. They're closing in on me, the People Downstairs. 
But tell them it wasn't all my fault; tell them about the 
grandmother in the locket and the mother out of the wine- 
shop. I didn't start fair, Gwenny. I was tricked in my 
cradle. I was given to a woman of the world — I, your 
child of the wood-land, the child of love and fancy and 
resignation. You said you understood; you said the story 
wasn't finished, the penalty wasn't paid. I'm going to pay 
it, Gwenny, in shame and remorse and fear. You sent me 
the ring — the ring with the black pearl, that was only to 
leave your finger when you had learnt the full meaning of 
sacrifice. You gave it, and I took it. I've taken every- 
thing, from everybody, love and trust; and I've given 
nothing back." 

With a moan she dropped her head upon her arms, but 
presently she raised it and spoke again, in the same low, 
awed voice, looking into the same shadowy corner with the 
same eyes of terror. 

There was no fire that night, and no moon ; only the 
blue light and the scent of the late roses at the window. 
There was no sound except the beating of your two hearts 
and the voice of fate, whispering: ‘ It is written so.' You 
were weak with love and longing, and the thought of the 
cruel day coming to rob you of one another. I can see you, 
you dear boy and girl: you're coming near to me; you're 
going to touch me; you're going to put your kind, warm 
arms about me — but, oh! you mustn't; I couldn't bear it. 
It isn't you who are the ghosts ; you're all human with pity 
and kindness, here in the room where you felt so much, 
and where I — the real ghost — the thing of emptiness and 
chill — have felt nothing — nothing ! " 

She put out her arms, as though to ward off the on- 


The Hour Before the Dawn 273 

slaught of some dreaded force, then she let them fall again, 
and, slipping from her seat, she pressed her head on the 
hard wooden surface of it, while she rocked her body to 
and fro with the swinging motion of the chair. In prompt 
response to this unqualified attitude of surrender, the handle 
of the door turned softly, but Alva was too absorbed in her 
own outburst to hear the step of the intruder. Only when 
she felt his arm about her did she start and turn her dis- 
figured face to his. 

‘‘ Leave me alone, Peter.’’ 

'' I can’t. I never could, you know. It was horrible, 
darling, but it’s over, and they didn’t mean to wrong you. 
They suffered too.” 

She laughed bitterly, still trying, though ineffectually, to 
release herself from his hold. 

‘‘ It’s not their story that is horrible ; you know that as 
well as I do. It’s mine. Theirs was, at least, a story of 
life — of love — of pain and courage. Mine is the story of a 
life that never was a life at all ; it was a dream, an awful, 
ridiculous dream ; years and years, and nothing to show for 
them.” 

But now there was appeal in her accent, and she was 
yielding to his touch, demanding of it, but he could find no 
words in which to offer reassurance. 

You can’t find anything to say, Peter. There isn’t any- 
thing, except those dreadful words in the Bible that keep 
running round in my head : ' Thou hast been weighed in 

the balance and found wanting.’ I haven’t anything to set 
against them. I’ve helped nobody. I’ve loved nobody. 
I’m more alone than anybody in the world. Even you can’t 
stay beside me, though you said ‘ for better, for worse ’ in 
such a wonderful voice, Peter. You think I didn’t hear, 
but I did, though I was so sound asleep. I’d like it to be 
true, but of course it isn’t. They all say it, and they say it 
boldly, when we look beautiful and when we are full of 
mystery. But when our faces are spoiled with crying, when 
the mystery has turned out to be a sordid one, they stand 
back — they’re silent, as you are.” 


274 The Hour Before the Dawn 

There was a hint of her old petulance in the appeal, and 
it relieved him to hear it. 

I never can find much to say, Alva, but I never stand 
away unless you ask me to, and I never shall. There’s the 
virtue of people like myself; we’re constant. I have to 
share with you; if you’re unhappy, so am I.” 

She remained silent for a time, her cheek against his. 
But presently the whisper broke out again, and now there 
was tenderness in it; there was the note so long thirsted 
for, and eagerly he drank the sound of it. 

It isn’t fair! You ought to stand away; I’m ugly and 
worthless — a girl without a name, and you’re the only pro- 
tector I can find. Oh, aren’t you ashamed to show so little 
pride?” 

One can’t have everything,” he told her almost gaily ; 
there isn’t room for pride along with so much love. And 
you mustn’t talk of having no name. You’ve mine, and 
nobody has a better right to it. I wanted to give it you 
the very first time I met you, and I’ve never wanted to give 
it to anybody else. That’s God’s truth, Alva, and a mystery 
for you at the same time.” 

Peter, I’m frightened. I’ve talked of fairies and 
ghosts and spirits, but it was none of these that stopped me. 
I vowed to go the way of my fancy — east and west and 
south and north, hunting for new sensations as a child 
hunts for shells. I was all ready to go, and somebody — 
something — stopped me. Who was the somebody? What 
was the something? I only know that it was a power I 
haven’t allowed to count, and it was waiting in the dark all 
these years. It was stronger than any force I’ve ever con- 
ceived, and it’s shaken all my will — all my courage, out of 
me. All my multitude of dainty imaginings are scattered, 
like a flight of timid birds before an exploding gun. My 
faith in myself has gone. Is it God, Peter, who plays with 
our boast of independence like this ? ” 

‘T call him God still,” said the young man gravely. 
‘‘ There are other names, but I like the old one best. It 
seems to bring him nearer — make him kinder.” 


The Hour Before the Dawn 275 

"‘Yes/’ said Alva wistfully, ""it does. IVe come so far 
from first principles and first names. It frightens me to 
think of the length of the way back. Fd better begin by 
going downstairs, as far as our room. Take me back, 
Peter, to the life Fve never tried to live.” 

As he helped her to rise from that position of abandon- 
ment, he put his foot on the leather case and stooped to 
secure it. 

"" They must be burnt to-night,” he said ; but she laid 
hands on his with a low cry. 

"" Burn the letters ? — never ! Burn all I have of her ? — 
never ! He couldn’t and Minnie couldn’t, and — I can’t ! ” 

""But I can and must,” Peter insisted. "" They’ve . done 
their work, and they must go — in fairness to her, Alva, as 
well as to you.” 

"" It wouldn’t be fair to her,” Alva argued excitedly ; "" it’s 
my turn to pay something. In her heart she must want 
me, and I’m going to her, even if my going betrays the 
secret.” 

"" Exactly what you would be sure to say and do,” he 
said, so caustically as to startle her. 

"" But it’s sacrifice, Peter. I want to take my share.” 

"" It’s extravagance,” he corrected ; "" it’s one of those 
dramatic invitations you’ve always accepted. Think a mo- 
ment; she’s given her whole life to save her point — your 
welfare, and you want to make her life-long silence useless. 
She’s got one thing to keep her from despair; the thought 
that you are safe and happy ; that she paid for two, and you 
want to take that thought from her, and give her, instead, 
a scene from a melodrama.” 

Alva took her hands from his and turned her face from 
the fire. 

"" Burn them, Peter ; be quick, or I might change my 
mind ! ” 

He thrust sheet after sheet into the flames, where they 
crackled merrily, and with a sob she stared fiercely at the 
window. 

The light was coming out of the east. It lay in bars of 


2/6 The Hour Before the Dawn 

color along the bare boards of the room. Suddenly it 
seemed to Alva that warmth and promise were creeping in 
too, creeping towards her. Soon the little messengers of 
hope would touch her feet and climb up her long white 
dressing-gown. Smiling she turned back into the room. 

'' I shall remember,'’ she said, almost eagerly ; “ it's only 
the paper we've burnt. The words are in my heart. Take 
me down, Peter. I want to be quick and begin the new 
life." 

A little doubtfully he looked at this unexpected exhibition 
of enthusiasm. It smacked too strongly of ancient tend- 
ency to altogether satisfy him; but as he led her down those 
narrow, winding stairs, as he felt her hands clinging to 
him, felt her breath on his cheek, it was impossible not to 
quicken with some sort of happy prognostication. 

As they reached their bedroom, a loud knocking could 
be heard, and Alva paused, looking nervously in the direc- 
tion of the door opposite. When opened, rather im- 
patiently, by Peter, a maid was discovered, cold and ag- 
grieved, with an ulster and a shawl over her night attire. 

I thought I'd never get nobody to 'ear ; you was that 
sound asleep. It's this note. Sir Peter, for my lady. A 
man come with it, in a dogcart, and as nobody seemed to 
'ear 'is knocking and ringing, save Nora and me, I 'ad 
to come down." 

Peter took the missive and brought it to his wife. Hold- 
ing it under the light of the nearest candle, which had 
burnt low in its socket during her long absence upstairs, 
Alva read the following lines : — 

''November loth, 

" Monk's Revel. 

Dear Lady Southern, — My mother is ill, and the 
doctors hold out little hope of her recovery. Chill com- 
plications and a tendency to let the fire go out — that's the 
case, so far as I can gather it. 

She calls repeatedly for a woman in your household — 
Minnie Brand, and I've taken the liberty of sending a dog- 


I The Hour Before the Dawn 277 

' cart. Sick people are apt to be insistent, so forgive the un- 
, seemliness of the hour. 

As you may suppose, my time and my thoughts are 
engrossed by this sudden misfortune, the illness only taking 
a serious turn during my absence last night. 

‘‘ I feel sure I can count on your sympathy and under- 
standing, and remain, — Yours very truly, 

'"Anthony Glover."" 

Peter,"" she said faintly, and held the note out to him. 

He gave her a warning glance, for the girl was within 
earshot, and, having mastered the contents, he went once 
more to the door. 

" You"re to wake Minnie — without fuss, mind, and tell 
her to dress. She"s wanted by a sick friend ; she"s to drive 
back in the cart waiting below. Tell her Fll be down to 
see her start."" 

Ignoring the air of astonishment with which the girl re- 
garded his day-dress, he closed the door on her and came 
quickly to his wife. Only by infinite trouble did he suc- 
ceed in quelling what promised to be a second collapse into 
despair. She implored him to take her to her mother, 
but, though his resolute pertinacity and careful train of 
reasoning eventually silenced her, it was plain that the 
optimistic spirit of the last few minutes was quenched 
again. 

"You shall go directly she asks for you consciously,"" he 
promised. " At present it is Minnie that she wants — 
Minnie, who knows her secret, who can tell her that you 
are well and safe. I am going to speak to her before she 
starts, and tell her that no one will ever have the power 
to take you away from me again. She shall pass that news 
on, if it seems advisable. Alva, you must trust us all to act 
for the best."" 

Her head fell, acquiescent but disconsolate, against the 
back of the big chair into which she had fallen, and he was 
compelled to leave her and hurry downstairs. 

Surely, she thought, left to herself and the horrors of 


278 The Hour Before the Dawn 

the situation — surely this was the punishment she had I 
evoked. All but she were called upon for their quota of \ 
sacrifice. She had elected to receive, never to give, and j 
the impious choice was now wreaking upon her its ; 
belated vengeance. None would take from so poisoned a : 
stream as her generosity; she was doomed to sit apart, a i 
goddess on a lofty throne, into whose lap humanity was to ! 
pour innumerable gifts, which she was powerless to enjoy * 
or to return. 

But as she heard the wheels of the carriage below crunch 
the gravel, an entirely diflferent emotion came to her mind. 

Instead of a Niobe, Peter came back to a business 
woman. 

Why, there’s the money ! ” she exclaimed, almost be- 
fore he had crossed the threshold. ‘'Twenty thousand 
pounds, Peter, and more to come. WeVe no choice. In 
common honesty we’re bound to tell.” 

Peter was nonplused by this abrupt change of mood, but 
not, it seemed, by her argument. 

“ I thought of that while you were reading the letters, 
but I don’t recognize any such pressure. No, Alva, we’re 
going to keep the secret and the money too.” 

“ But it isn’t honest,” she began, staring at him as though 
he were a stranger, seen for the first time. 

For a moment an extraordinary and dreadful explana- 
tion of his patience, his restraint, his resolution, flashed 
into her mind, and involuntarily he laughed, seeing the 
nature of it. 

“ No. I’m not a fortune-hunter, Alva, I’m a humorist, 
for once in my life. I’m going to make a joke, a practical 
joke. There’s actually a grain of amusement to be got 
out of this appalling situation. I’m going to turn your 
grandmother, against her will, into a philanthropist.” 

“ Peter ! ” she gasped, and the corners of her mouth 
quivered. 

“ Don’t laugh, or you’ll be crying directly. Yes. It’s 
perfectly feasible. The sick shall be healed and the poor 
made merry, all at her unconscious expense. Every penny 


The Hour Before the Dawn 279 

she puts into your hand you pass on. Oh, she won’t put 
many more, once she sees the game. She’ll be rampant, 
but that will only make it all the funnier. She’ll call us 
cranks, because, you see, we can’t endow the people on our 
own estate; they’re not poor enough. She may call us 
harder names, as will our friends, on occasion; but you 
won’t mind, will you? We’ll take the wrong names to- 
gether.” 

The note he finished on was charged with earnestness, 
and the light of amusement died out of her tremulous 
face. 

She made no reply, but she held out her hands, and he 
folded them tenderly within his own. 

‘‘ They seem tractable,” he said, with an effort after 
lightness; it isn’t only another phase, is it? ” 

Don’t let it be a phase,” she whispered. 

But, when, on an impulse of pity and adoration, too 
strong to be restrained, he lifted the meek hands to his 
lips, she snatched them from him with all her old air of 
extravagant passion. 

That’s how Merlin died, and hundreds more, as wise 
and as kind and as good as you. They say we murdered 
them, but it was they who poisoned us, with the sight of the 
rust on their swords and on their faculties, with their re- 
nunciation of mastery, with their passion-sick glances. No, 
Peter, it isn’t the old story, though, perhaps, it’s the grain 
of truth at the bottom of all the fiction ; it’s history, not the 
fairy-tale. The ancestors can teach one thing: that you 
must love with more demand. One doesn’t learn to be a 
wife on undiluted worship; one learns to be an idol. You 
must give me something beside love.” 

His dark eyes gave her, apparently, the promise that 
she sought in them, for with a smile, a sigh, an influx of 
something like gaiety into her movements, she left her seat 
and crossed to the window. She unlatched one of the 
panes and set it ajar. The light in the east had grown 
much brighter; it flooded the broad stretch of land on to 
which she looked out; it dazzled her eyes, and, for a mo- 


aSo The Hour Before the Dawn 


ment, she laid her hand across them; then she looked out 
again, and sniffed the air with appreciation. 

A frost,” she said gratefully. It runs into your 
veins like wine, killing all the germs of horror born of this 
fearful night. It’s very sharp as well as sweet; it will kill 
the last of the flowers too; but never mind, they’ll bloom 
again, or their children will. It’s a pretty story, isn’t it, 
if only one reads far enough? Life in the dead — no — in 
the undying breast. I’ll have to be romantic to the end. 
This is the garden where Gwenny used to play; I can’t 
drive all her fairies out of it. Peter, she cut her name 
on the sundial, in the middle — impious, wasn’t it? And 
yet — and yet — we cut the invisible letters of our names in 
still more sacred places.” 

With a fall of spirit and eyes of appeal, she looked back 
into the room, into the quiet face of the man behind her, 
and, with an effort, he found the word of consolation for 
which she mutely begged. 

‘‘ One forgets the knife when the name is sweet.” 

And mine ? ” she whispered. 

Alva — the dawn — the beginning of life — find me a 
sweeter one.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE MOUSE AGAIN 

Anthony had put his mother’s case aptly, if callously. 

A neglected cold had provoked her illness, but behind the 
cold lay that disregard of life that is so fatal to its contin- 
uance. There was in her no desire to fight. Indeed, 
whenever a spasm of pain passed through and out of her, 
she felt as if she had been approached and deserted again 
by some friend with rough manners, whose going left her 
more conscious than before of desolation. Physical tor- 
ment could create for her what kinder forces could not — 
brief spells of respite from that array of memories whose 
pressure, like the single drop of water falling on one spot, 
constitutes so exquisite a mode of punishment. 

As the faces of her attendants lengthened, hers took, for 
all its frailty, an aspect of buoyancy, long foreign to its 
grave type of beauty. 

The malady threatened lungs and heart, to find each 
organ void of the protective spirit of opposition. Fever 
slipped into the blood, to run unquestioned, welcome even, 
through the veins, and the sick woman began to babble 
happily of far-away events, whose quarrel with her actual 
life was temporarily forgotten. Then came a wrestle be- 
tween ancient habit and the invader ; the flying forces of con- 
stitutional caution were rallied and the diseased mind made a 
stand. Gwendolen called to her side the one woman with 
knowledge and aifection enough to protect her natural from 
her delirious self. She had no desire to wreck the peace 
of others by that indulgence in confession so dear to those 
about to sail into the wide waters of a new existence. She 
had held her secret too long and at too great a price to sac- 

281 


282 


The Mouse Again 

rifice it now, and she called to Minnie, for the second 
time, to stand between herself and betrayal. 

True, her husband could no longer bring his cold eye to 
bear upon her weakness, but there was Anthony, who came 
at intervals to make inquiries, to regard her with that 
horrible air of controlled interest as void of natural affec- 
tion as of trust. Well enough she understood, that, like his 
father, he suspected her of secretions, though, unlike old 
Glover, he could detach the suspicion from indignation. 
She could almost fancy him grateful to her for that veil of 
elusiveness, in which, from time immemorial, she had 
wrapped herself. The density of the folds provided his 
disposition with the food of its choice. 

For herself, the petty lines of personal dignity no longer 
mattered; but for her child — the child she had sent so far 
from her, they mattered much; and she struggled to pre- 
serve them, as despotically as she had once striven to sepa- 
rate cause and effect in her dealings with George Southern. 

She smiled a glad and grateful smile at the old friend 
who came so promptly. It was a luxury to feel again the 
touch of one who loved without question. For Gwenny's 
heart, in spite of all its reserve, was sentient still ; she was 
tragically conscious of her own state of isolation and of 
the harsh quality of the gifts the years had settled on her. 
There was no agnosticism in the mind that analyzed them 
so pitilessly, but there was scarcely philosophy enough, 
either, to protect the emotions. 

She could not doubt the superiority of mind over matter; 
she never suspected treachery in those spirit unions, which 
were all that life left her in the way of luxury, but, as she 
grew older, as she read, more and more attentively, of the 
soul-journeys of others, there came to her, gradually and 
painfully, the conviction that the absorbing and intoxicat- 
ing dreams of youth are never allowed to substantiate. 
For a long time the figure of her lost boy-lover stood in the 
center of that vast and shapeless world, created half by her 
powers of romance, half by her primitive religious beliefs. 
For years she had lived fantastically, and not quite un- 


The Mouse Again 283 

happily, in spiritual connection with those from whom 
fortune had divided her, and it was only by very slow de- 
grees that she permitted herself to be despoiled of these 
precious companions of the imagination. 

Now, as she lay at the mercy of fever and pain and 
weakness, the sums of these accumulated scraps of intro- 
spection became very uncompromising in character. 

It was not George Southern and all that he stood for of 
youth and joy, towards whom she drifted out in patient 
resignation ; it was not the idolized grandmother who beck- 
oned; it was the force from which this man and woman 
had been evoked that drew her, feeble, but trustful, back 
into its mysterious essence. George was no longer the 
spirit of the morning, calling beneath her window, cutting, 
for her, a way into the heart of free forest life ; she was no 
longer the girl who had looked at him with eyes, now 
hungry, now treacherous; the girl who had flown to him 
with impious passion and from him with fanatical fervor. 
Boy and girl — man and woman — they had asked of one 
another when they should have asked of the parent power 
from which they sprang. 

She would shed with her body that mute and agonizing 
cry for her friend. It came with the fever, but it was 
mechanical ; it meant no more than the muscular movement 
that often inspires a human form from which the spirit 
has departed. It was only the fever that rewoke that 
haunting story of the past — that sent his name so perpet- 
ually to her lips. Her saner self, fluttering home, at inter- 
vals, with pain and efifort, would tell a braver — a longer 
story than the one to which, in youth, she had been a 
victim. 

She would touch those lips and hands no more; not be- 
cause denial frowned before, as well as behind her, but be- 
cause there were better things to touch in that dim future 
gathering about the bed. 

And the coming of Minnie brought her infinite comfort 
and reassurance. She saw in Minnie the wise woman, to 
whom all the secrets of nature have been revealed, not in 


284 The Mouse Again 

book-language, but in the language of sympathy. Minnie 
asked no questions, and, what was more, she suppressed 
none. An inner instinct made clear to her the needs of 
those she served, and her simplicity was like a breath 
of fresh air in a room long closed. The ministration of her 
deft hands was mentally as well as physically soothing. 

For the greater part of the day of her arrival, the 
patient showed signs of improvement, and until late in 
the afternoon she kept a satisfactory control of her facul- 
ties, but towards evening the fever returned, and, presently, 
other symptoms of unfavorable portent put in an appear- 
ance. A consultation had been held that same morning, at 
the instigation of the family doctor, a great light from 
town presiding; but the conclusion unanimously arrived 
at was disheartening, from all points of view. The case 
was one of those innately disturbing to science. With their 
fees in their pockets and the spirit of repulse in their 
hearts, the great men went back to fight less independent, 
less desperate causes. 

Doctor Forde, who had presided over the family ail- 
ments for twenty years, listened sadly to Minnie’s appeal, 
yielded to it, as a man yields to circumstances that his 
honesty has to acknowledge too strong for his skill. The 
hospital nurse, who had been summoned the day previous, 
was, obviously, uncongenial to the delicate perceptions of 
the patient on whose courage all depended. What Minnie 
lacked in technical knowledge of nursing she atoned for 
by an almost uncanny instinct concerning the mental state 
of her charge. She was soft-footed too, and soft-handed ; 
she never rattled the medicine-bottles and glasses, and she 
let the drops fall with a hand entirely steady. With but 
little argument the old woman got her way. It was de- 
cided that the professional nurse should enjoy a sound 
night’s sleep, while the amateur, in spite of her day’s serv- 
ice, was to be allowed to remain at her post, at least until 
the doctor’s return at dawn, and, having satisfied himself 
that Minnie had her table of directions at her finger-tips, 
he took his departure. 


The Mouse Again 285 

For an hour or two Gwendolen lay very still. Her pulse 
was quieter, the fever had dropped; at intervals she mut- 
tered, but only a word or two at a time. Once or twice she 
started violently, but when her nurse leant over her she 
smiled in recognition and relief. 

‘‘ I thought it was Anthony in the room,” she said on 
two occasions. He had been to visit her in the morning, 
but since the verdict of the doctors he Had kept away, and 
Minnie hoped he would continue to do so. It was plain 
that he was a source of fear to the sick woman. At his 
entrance she had always seemed to rouse herself by sheer 
force of will into consciousness. Carefully she had listened 
to his questions and warily she had answered them, and 
when he left the room her eyes had always followed his 
departing form with what Minnie recognized as intense 
satisfaction. 

But, by-and-by, the little palace of hope she was erecting 
upon the silence, shook and fell. Gwendolen began to toss 
feebly on her pillows ; the odd words swelled into a stream, 
and soon the racking spirits of delirium were out again, 
driving the quarry down the old track, back to the gray 
house upon the hill — the house that had laid its spell for 
once and for always upon the heart of the little adven- 
turess, and charged it with so dangerous and illogical an 
ardor of appreciation. 

These rapid utterances were united by little law of se- 
quence, but they were always attached to that single chain 
of experience in this history of the past. 

‘‘YouVe such a cold, thin face!” the voice declared 
more than once. '' It’s like a hatchet, and your eyes are 
the keen blade. How it glitters ! You’re very wise, aren’t 
you? for you sit all day and every day gathering the wis- 
dom of the dead men. I want to learn it too ,* I must learn 
it. Pull the blind down, Mr. Calder, or he’ll see me and 
call to me through the window, and then when he calls I 
have to go. We go deep down into the woods together; so 
deep that there isn’t any sunshine, and the scent of the 
trees is like the scent of a vault where the dead people lie. 


286 


The Mouse Again 

Tm always thinking of those dead people and how soundly 
they sleep, for death is only sleep — Fve found that out; 
they smile sometimes out of their shrouds — such a smile! 
so strange and chill and fearful. Why do you stare at 
me ? I’m only a little girl ; I won’t be anything else — do you 
hear? You want to make me wise as yourself, but not to- 
day, not to-day, Mr. Calder ; to-day’s a holiday. I’m going 
to run away — from you — from everybody — but him.” 

Minnie stooped and laid a cool hand on her forehead, 
smoothing out the furrows in it. 

I’d nearly forgotten you,” she said, in another and a 
happier voice. I’m glad you called me. I like to be with 
you. You’re so kind and safe; you’re so fat and happy. 
And you rustle so, like the leaves in the autumn. It’s your 
funny silk gown, isn’t it? I’ll sit here, up on the dresser, 
and watch you at work. What lovely work! What thou- 
sands of petals, red and pink and white — and oh, what 
a lovely smell ! It goes on for ever and ever, like the story 
of this house ; what a long time ! But now I’m frightened 
again. I mustn’t stay — I don’t belong — I must go back 
into the darkness, into the picture — into father’s picture, 
that he looks at with half-shut eyes, like the painters do. 
He’s looking at me now, and it’s a knife in me.” 

'' Hush, Miss Gwenny. There’s no pictures here, nor 
painters neither.” 

'' That’s Minnie,” said the sick woman gratefully. ‘‘ You 
always come when I call, don’t you? You’re always in the 
curtains, though I can’t see you. And now I can’t hear 
you any more. This is the hour that I dread; this is the 
hour when you have to go away to your supper,” she 
added, with a fall of spirit, ‘‘and they’ll come back to 
frighten me.” 

“ No. I shan’t go away, deary, though there’s none to 
frighten you in this house.” 

“ Are you quite sure, Minnie? ” 

“ Quite, quite sure. Miss Gwenny.” 

There was a silence, then the voice again, shrill and 
fearful. 


The Mouse Again 287 

‘‘ It’s the mouse, Minnie ! oh, you promised me it 
couldn’t get in, but it can! It’s scampering round in my 
head. How did it get in? and how will it ever get out 
again? Drive it away, Minnie. It’s hurting me.” 

'' It’s gone,” said the woman placidly. '' They’re a regular 
pest are the mice in these old houses, but they never hurt 
nobody. I thought you liked the mice. Miss Gwenny; you 
wouldn’t never let me set traps for them.” 

“ It hasn’t gone ; it’s gnawing a way in and I can’t stop 
it. Nobody can stop it when once it has begun. What a 
dreadful thought! It’s like the seed in the earth; it lies 
so still, so silent, until everybody has forgotten it, and 
then it begins to grow ; it’s growing now, bigger and bigger, 
and nobody knows, nobody guesses ; nobody will ever 
come to me except the death-man. Minnie, Minnie, be 
quick! oh, be quick, dear! or he’ll take me before you 
come.” 

“ Why, you’re dreaming. Miss Gwenny. ' I came long 
ago.” 

Gwendolen let herself be momentarily reassured, and 
closed her bright, staring eyes. 

Minnie mixed a draught and coaxed her to swallow it. 

‘‘ Go to sleep, deary. I won’t go away.” 

For a time the patient lay motionless, then a shadow fell 
suddenly across the bed, across the flushed face, and Minnie 
started violently. She had heard no footfall, but some 
one had entered the room. Some one must be standing 
behind her, and, turning, she found herself face to face 
with the person she least wished to see in this chamber 
of sickness. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A LOST NAME 

You shouldn't be here, sir. She's excited enough as it 
is. I've just given her a sleeping-draught, and I'm hopeful 
it will send her off. Go away, Mr. Glover. I'll let you 
know the moment there's a change, whether for better or 
worse." 

He made no reply ; he stood looking down attentively at 
the form upon the bed. The eyes were open again, and full 
of the fire of delirium. The cheek was rosy with fever, 
the calm face was alive with strange and unfamiliar pas- 
sions, and the youth regarded it with growing apprecia- 
tion. 

To the woman's second and more urgent appeal he turned 
a deaf ear, and it was evident he saw in the occasion a 
value he meant to stop and decipher. 

He moved noiselessly to the other side of the bed, and, 
seating himself on the edge of it, he proceeded to scrutinize 
its occupant carefully. She was, apparently, unaware of 
his presence. It was into the far distance she stared so 
wistfully. 

She hasn't slept for so long, sir, and it's sleep, and only 
sleep, that can bring her healing." 

“ I'm not disturbing her, my good soul," he said equably, 
but at the sound of his voice so close to her ear, Gwendolen 
broke out once more. 

‘‘ I can't be mistaken. I've counted them so often. 
There were thirty-two windows in front, and fifteen on the 
side nearest the orchard, and seventeen — now, was it seven- 
teen at the back? I wish I could remember. I'm sure of 
nothing to-night." 

The stream was flowing, but more inconsequently than 
288 


A Lost Name 


289 

before. Names emerged, but it almost seemed that the 
eavesdropper was to be disappointed, for the ideas ran in 
circles, coming from nowhere, going nowhere save into the 
land of nonsense. She was a child again, or rather the 
creature, part child, part woman, to whom the soul’s 
awakening had come prematurely. 

He evinced no sign of impatience, but after a while he 
leant forward and put his long, cool fingers to her fore- 
head. 

She cried out, and brought her own hands up from the 
coverlet, at which they had been picking restlessly. She 
pressed them closely on to those venturing fingers, as 
though she strove to prison something precious. Her eyes 
closed, but not in languor, rather with the air of one who 
desires to protect herself from the sights fatal to illusion. 

How did you come ? ” she whispered. '' Why did you 
come, George? But no, you mustn’t speak. Somebody 
will hear and send you away.” 

She drew his hand lower, till it reached her mouth, and 
over the remainder of the face left exposed, lay a startling 
expression of ecstasy. For some minutes the sight of it 
appeared to satisfy the young man’s demand for sensation, 
and, for those same few minutes, he actually appeared to 
Minnie in the guise of an angel of healing. 

Let her beloved charge call him '' George,” or any other 
incorrect name her wandering fancy might select, so long 
as the mistake offered her the invaluable gift of mental 
relief. 

But her satisfaction was of short duration. All too soon 
she became aware that the imprisoned hand was vibrant. 
She felt, rather than saw, its scarcely perceptible move- 
ment, but she saw, very plainly, the quick and terrible re- 
sponse of the delicate nerves it strove thus secretly and 
subtly to influence. 

The rapture on the worn face was changing to a look of 
mingled fear and question. The hands slipped down until 
they lay upon the neck and the fluttering pulse in it, while 
the free mouth began again its tale of ancient conflict. 


A Lost Name 


290 

I told you not to speak. I begged you not to speak. 
If we’re silent maybe they won’t notice us; maybe they’ll 
leave us alone. Oh, be still, only be still ! ” 

But the hand was not still, and, in reply to its slight but 
momentous motion, she grew restless. She turned her head 
from her tormentor, and back again. 

When her ear lay directly beneath his mouth, he began 
to whisper. Minnie could catch but few of the words, but 
she could watch the effect they made; she could trace the 
cruelty and the determination in them by the track they fur- 
rowed across the wan face she loved so devotedly. 

Those long fingers sought the inflamed nerves with intent 
the opposite of soporific. Now she knew them for the 
spur, as nearly invisible as might be, that pricked the in- 
flamed mind towards utterance, towards revelation, to- 
wards the secret that had so long tantalized his ingenuity. 
But she knew, also, that she was powerless. This cruelty 
could be observable to none save herself. Gwendolen clung 
feverishly to the instigating hand; she drank thirstily the 
notes of that whispering voice. Anthony’s attitude was 
fully protected by the very laws he secretly outraged. To 
interfere was only further to increase this dangerous at- 
mosphere of excitement, to lay oneself open to condemna- 
tion. 

It was plain that many of the phrases stumbling from 
the mother’s lip, came at the instigation of the son, and 
they went fatally near the point of betrayal for which he 
aimed so pitilessly. His whisper kept her always in the 
gray house, always in touch, in nervous touch, with its in- 
mates. Unquestioningly she accepted the voice as that of 
the lover of her youth, though ever, under the accent of 
delight, lurked the suspicion that mars the glory of a dream. 

‘‘ Why did I marry him ? George — you married and I 
understood. Have you come back to hurt me? I’ve been 
hurt enough.” 

She turned from him to the other side of the bed, and, 
promptly, the old woman seized her opportunity and bent 
to whisper in her turn. 


A Lost Name 


291 


Go to sleep, Miss Gwenny. There’s none to hurt you 
here. There’s only Minnie sitting beside you till you go 
off.” 

‘‘Only you, Minnie? Was I frightened of you? No, 
now T remember. It was the ghosts. Why do they hate 
me so ? ” 

“ There aren’t no ghosts here, deary, nor anywhere, for 
the matter of that. It’s only children that believe in 
ghosts.” 

“ I feel so little in this house,” the poor thing murmured, 
“ a child again. I want to be a child. It’s good to be so 
small and foolish. Sing to me, Minnie — the song I liked 
the best. You’ll remember, though I can’t.” 

Her eyelids fell, as she listened to the soft, crooning 
sound, and the look of recovered peace hung, for a moment, 
over her, then, the hand, still at her throat, stirred again, 
and all the wires of her sensitive being began to throb an 
answer. Her head went back to the other side; her ear 
lay, once more, beneath the whispering mouth, and Minnie 
could only lean back in her place, and pray, with all the 
fervor her religious faith and her desperation could produce 
between them. 

After all, she told herself, by way of stimulant, the secret 
was safe enough in these hands. Pride and self-interest 
would curb the man’s tongue, and revelation could only 
serve as a double barrier between him and his half-sister. 

It was only her mistress’ comfort and honor she wished 
to secure. She wanted to close those dear eyes with the 
unimpaired stamp of personal dignity upon them. She 
wanted to deny to every mourning glance, even the sugges- 
tion of a right to criticize. 

And it almost seemed as though those silent prayers, 
going up to heaven between mundane thoughts and calcula- 
tions, were to find an answer, though it was not the one 
demanded ; for Gwendolen was chattering again of her chil- 
hood. Minnie must have invoked a strain of light and 
happy memories, for, at intervals, she laughed, weak but 
convincing laughter. She was back in the old house, but 


A Lost Name 


292 

she was playing, like a kitten, with its gravity and its old- 
world air of dignity. Now it was the librarian at whom 
she jested and mocked; now it was the plump housekeeper, 
and now Sir George himself. She was the innocent pet of 
the household, wielding her power with dainty pretense of 
cruelty. 

And Minnie understood, that, to the man who listened, 
there was discomfort in the tale. He had never been 
young ; he had never been innocent ; all that he had missed 
or derided in his scheme of existence flaunted its divinity 
before him. Sending covert glances into his calm face, she 
knew that it was in sullen wrath and impotent pain that he 
looked on at this ebullition of gaiety. 

This laughing, loving girl, with her warm hands out- 
stretched to give or take, could not fail to touch the weak 
point in his code of legislature; and, while the exhibition 
brought righteous punishment to profanity, it brought, also, 
to the mind of the devoted servant, an appreciation of the 
ways of justice. To have paid in full the exigeant demands 
of nature seemed to her, in this illuminating moment, an 
achievement that no court of human condemnation had the 
power to condemn. She saw the virgin charni of this crea- 
ture of her devotion pass out from the temporary cloud 
that had obscured its brightness, and, with a look of tri- 
umph, she sent her first bold glance into the face of the 
enemy. 

He received it with a baleful smile, then bent a little 
closer over his victim. 

“ Gwenny, come back to me. I want you. I always 
want you, don’t I ? But I want the woman who loved me, 
Gwenny, not the child who laughed at me.” 

“ I never laughed at you, George. At all the rest, but 
never at you. I’m coming, dear. I always come when you 
call, though it isn’t wise ; it’s only very wonderful. When I 
touch your hand there comes a mist over everything; the 
mist that lay around the little ruined tower, the mist that 
hung about the river in the morning, making the com- 
mon things so beautiful and strange. Oh, George, they’re 


A Lost Name 


293 

: far too beautiful for me ! I don’t belong. I must go back 
(to the green tables and the noise and the horrible thoughts, 
i I must go back into the picture and be sold ! I told you to 
I go away. I begged you to go away. It isn't safe here." 

Once more she turned from him, and found her nurse's 
fingers. 

‘‘ It's only me, Miss Gwenny." 

‘‘ There was some one else," said the dying woman fret- 
' fully. He's gone ; I sent him away ; but I want him, 
Minnie, I want him " ; and she turned back, seeking the 
voice of the charmer. 

And now he dropped his tone again, sending the question 
into her ear alone — the question she would not be able to 
evade ; the question that his ingenuity told him would pro- 
duce, at last, the answer to the long riddle of her melan- 
choly life. 

She trembled as he put it, torn by memories and bewilder- 
ment. 

“ Why must I tell you ? I told you long ago. Have you 
forgotten? There was the play-room. I came so softly 
past your door, but not so softly — oh, God forgive me ! — as 
I might have come. You followed me; I can hear your 
steps, up and up, through the still house, through the great 
bedchamber with the strange smell of long ago — the room 
into which the children came and out of which the mothers 
went; and up and on, by the staircase with the winding, 
crooked steps, to the play-room under the roof. Oh ! I can 
feel the cold ; it's the very middle of the night ; there's your 
gun against the wall ; it looks like a phantom with that blue 
light on the barrel ; I'd like to press it against my heart and 
slip out into the undiscovered country — ^but no ; you 
wouldn't be there, and I couldn't live so far from you. 
There's a sound; is it a mouse? Is it my heart or yours? 
How it beats! Oh, I'm frightened! I want the morning 
with the good sunlight. The moon is a witch ; she's weav- 
ing a spell now, a spell of evil. I can't see her, but she's 
there, hiding behind the clouds. Don't move, don't speak. 
You're to stay on your side of the window. This room is 


A Lost Name 


294 

full of people, George. I can hear them. They’re telling 
me such awful things, all the things in heaven above and in 
the earth beneath and in the water — oh! I can’t remember 
about the water, but it isn’t safe. We must go back softly 
as w.e came, through the grim bedroom, through the sleep- 
ing house, back to the old horrible life. You’re not to touch 
me, but you’re to talk at once of anything, of nothing — 
quick I or it will be too late ; — of the nest we found yester- 
day — there were birds in it ; of your gun — no, that’s death 
and pain. Oh, when will the sun come ? Is it going to be 
night for ever? and why won’t you speak? Is that your 
hand? It’s warm and everything else is so cold. You must 
take it away. I’m afraid of it. What’s that? There’s 
some one tapping at the window; it’s only the roses, the 
June roses; it’s late for them — ^too late — too late for every- 
thing, for here’s your warm hand again — no, it’s your arms ; 
they’re coming round me and I can’t keep them off. Your 
face is coming out of the darkness. I can see the eyes look- 
ing down for mine, and now I’m not frightened any more. 
The others have all gone; there’s only you and me — only 
you and me in all the world to matter.” 

Gasping, she broke off, and Minnie made a last effort to 
turn the stream of memory. 

'' Miss Gwenny ! ” she called shrilly, ‘‘ I want you.” 

‘‘ You mustn’t come here, Minnie. Nobody must come 
here. It’s holy ground, for it was here I took him, Minnie, 
for life or death, for good or evil. There’s only you, 
George, in all the world. It’s you I lived for and lied for 
and suffered for; it’s you who sleep upon my heart every 
night of the endless years. They tried to take you away; 
they put you under-ground, but you never stay there. Oh, 
it’s good to hold you so tight ! ” 

But as she paused he caressed her, and whispered once 
again, and obediently her spirit moved on into more troubled 
waters. 

‘‘ I can’t remember ; that’s what I can’t remember. But I 
told you in the letter, dearest, the letter that went into the 
fire. Oh, why will you hurt me so ? The name — the name ? 


A Lost Name 


295 

I It’s gone — but I gave it you ; you couldn’t lose it — the name 
of your own child — such a pretty name, and now I want it — 
j I must have it. Find it me; I gave it you and you’ve lost 
it. Minnie knows, but I sent her away; I sent everybody 
away but you ; and now you won’t tell me the name.” 

“ The name ? ” he echoed, and looked compellingly at the 
woman opposite. 

But it was her turn to show repulse. Her lips were set 
close, and her small bright eyes gleamed out upon him with 
I mute defiance and disdain. 

‘‘ Be quiet, Gwenny,” he said soothingly ; be quiet and 
you’ll remember.” 

“ Oh, she was so little, George, and so fair, and fate took 
her away in the pink cot with all the soft pillows ; she used 
to burrow her face into them. Emmy’s child slipped out 
and she slipped in, and I want the name — the name,” she 
finished wildly. 

And on a flash of comprehension he found, and involun- 
tarily he gave it her. '' Alva,” he gasped ; and '' Alva,” she 
repeated, with a sob of relief. 

She fell back, freed at last, for in the moment of revela- 
tion his hand dropped, and he made no effort to replace it. 
For some seconds he sat staring before him with horrified 
unseeing eyes, then he shivered slightly, and rose from his 
seat on the bed. 

Minnie glanced cautiously at him, as she slipped into his 
vacated place, and saw there was no more to be feared from 
him. He had enough food for digestion, something more 
than enough, and he slunk back into the shadows behind the 
bed, thinking his startled thoughts. 

Alva,” said the sick woman softly, imploringly, ‘‘ where 
is she ? ” 

‘‘ Safe, deary ; well and happy. She’s got all you 
wouldn’t take. Miss Gwenny : the name and the house, and 
the good, true man that loves her ; and he knows the whole 
story, for I told him, and he only loves her the more 
because of it. That’s the way with the Southerns, as you 
know; they always set their gates open to trouble. She’s 


A Lost Name 


296 

safe, and it’s God’s answer to all them tears of yours, and 
it’s a beautiful answer, to my thinking.” 

'‘Yes, and it’s always you, Minnie, who find these beau- 
tiful things. I’m glad to have you near me. You’re always 
in the curtains, waiting, in case I call. How tired I am! 
I’d like to sleep. Put your head on the pillow beside me, 
then I can be certain you haven’t slipped away. My head is 
quite steady now, and I can see you plainly. They all think 
you’re just an old servant, but you’re something very dif- 
ferent. I think it’s one of those old churches in Wales; 
they haven’t much ornament, and what they have is gener- 
ally broken ; but you go in, perhaps only out of curiosity, 
and in the doorway a spirit meets you, and says — and says : 
‘ I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last ; I am in the 
great cathedrals of the earth ; I am in the hearts of beggars 
— I am everywhere ; I am here. I am the spirit of love and 
sacrifice. I go from the cross to the crown.’ ” 

"You were always full of fancies. Miss Gwenny. You 
used to turn the sticks and stones into fairies, so if you like 
to turn me into a little Welsh church, I’ve no objection. 
Anyway, you’re right to think I care a deal more for you 
and Miss Alva than for my stupid old self, and you’re 
right to put a cross on my back ; but as for the crown. I’d 
rather have the polishing of it than the wearing of it, by 
a long way, and I don’t doubt the Lord Almighty ’ll bear 
that in mind, when my time comes to go elsewhere. Now 
shut your eyes, while I croon to you, and maybe you’ll 
drop off.” 

But Gwendolen was laughing weakly. 

" Oh, Minnie ! you really are the first and the last. Why 
did I go so far afield? Why did I bother with George 
Southern and his palace of stone? The real fairy palace 
was so much nearer. I see it now, and it’s mine — it always 
was mine, and the other was only — only — I can’t find the 
word. I’m so tired — so dreadfully tired ! ” 

" Don’t you worry, deary. Perhaps the palace you didn’t 
ought to have had showed you the way to the one you’ve 
chanced on now.” 


A Lost Name 


297 


l| '' That’s a good thought to sleep on,” said her mistress, 
'and, as if in gratitude to it, her lids fell. By slow degrees 
I the passion and the pain passed out of the pale face. Sleep, 
the healer, came too late to knit the physical forces into 
j healthy motion again, but not too late to smooth the path 
! for the out-going soul. 

For nearly an hour the old woman watched the slight 
I rise and fall of the breast, of the eyelids. Scarcely know- 
ing the direction in which went her own hopes and fears, 

I she waited for the final resignation of faculty, for that 
divorce her sub-conscious self knew to be desirable, as well 
j as irrevocable. She could not fail to note that every breath 
lost a little of its vigor; softer, shorter, each followed each, 
and the last ended in a sigh. 

So intense was the stillness of the room, that it was 
I borne to other ears than Minnie’s. The man behind the 
curtains, sunk in savage reverie, heard and stirred to the 
ominous sound of it. 

But if he meant to lay a possessive hand or an inquiring 
finger on the dead woman, she was too quick for him. She 
I rose to her feet beside the bed, shielding the body from his 
, glance, and she laid her hand over the sightless eyes, press- 
ing the lids closely down on them. 

Boldly she turned to look at him, to defy him, almost to 
taunt him. 

‘‘Yes, she’s dead, Mr. Anthony. There’s no more for 
her to tell you. Go to your own place, sir, for — it isn’t 
' here ! ” 

, Utterly unmanned by an animosity so unexpected, 
' evolved, too, out of matter so inconsequent, he found him- 
I self without retort, and with a movement of the shoulders, 

; too uncertain and ineffective to express his favorite shrug, 
he wheeled about and slunk from the chamber. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE WAY ALL THE STRAWS WERE BLOWING 

What had she meant, that distraught woman, standing 
between him and her dead? What had inspired the gentle 
tongue into that all too suggestive mode of dismissal ? To 
what place did he belong? 

In the privacy of his own room these questions ap- 
proached him pitilessly, and he had already the alarming 
suspicion that they were going to prove too many for him. 

He looked at the hundreds of books lining his walls, and 
his impulse was that of an ill-bred dog, — viz., to turn on the 
hand that had fed him, regardless of the fact that it had 
done so at his own insistent demand. At every tutor, living 
and dead, he hurled mute invective, conscious that every 
curse would come home to roost before very long. 

His despair had a central point, but he was incapable, as 
yet, of facing it. He made tortuous journeys into laby- 
rinths of side issues, feeling a nervous way towards the 
heart of the matter, the heart that, with colossal profanity, 
he had excluded from his scheme of existence. 

Holding the thought of Alva steadily at bay, he mused 
upon the secret as connected with the fates of his parents. 
He speculated on the amount of knowledge with which his 
father had taken this mysterious woman to wife, and he felt 
certain that she had confessed from the very first, tacitly, 
not openly, her excommunication from common rights. 

As far back as he could remember, she had always worn 
that look of uncomplaining endurance, and her husband 
had, undoubtedly, elected to take his satisfaction from it, 
rather than from the utterance of a name. Anthony could 
appreciate this choice, just as the cat can appreciate the 
ineffectual struggles of the mouse between her paws. 

298 


The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 299 

Gwendolen had been allowed to keep the husk of her 
secret, while the soul of it fluttered about the grim house, 
a horrible and shapeless bond between the two — tormentor 
and tormented. 

He could recall the malignant air of enjoyment in his 
father’s face, as he put, upon occasion, some innocent 
sounding query concerning the Southern family. He told 
himself that for his own part he had always been content 
to link her imagination — a child’s imagination, too — with 
this name; and following a suddenly evolved point of de- 
fense, he tried to prove a species of treachery towards 
himself, in the revelation of the night — tried to brow-beat 
the conscience he had so long denied, into silence, by the 
extenuating declaration that his one solitary tower of faith 
had been erected upon the innate purity of this stranger 
mother of his. 

Rendered a trifle bolder by this claim to a personal griev- 
ance, he called himself the victim of the laws of heredity. 
What chance had he been given, fathered by a person of 
Glover’s type, mothered by a woman whose every breeding- 
thought must have been stained by defiance of the law? 

And now he found courage to approach, warily, that 
dangerous inner kernel to the occasion. He reminded him- 
self that, being void of sentiment, despoliation could only 
affect him in the minor degree. He carried imagination to 
the mouth of the grave, and set it listening to the rattle of 
earth upon a coffin-lid ; but the coffin did not hold the body 
of his genuine interest, and, with an effort, he withdrew 
the dummy, and set the real cause of his perturbation face 
to face with analysis. 

‘‘ A sister.” The word seared his pride, threatening, as it 
did, the sole god of his devotion — distinction. 

His pulse had quickened to a mock stimulatress. Alva 
had been a will-of-the-wisp, and he the common traveler, 
lured into the ignominy of a morass by his own ridiculous 
credulity. Or again, she had been the mirror, and he the 
pretty boy of legend, enamored of his own image. 

Alva! Fiercely he called her one of the many straws 


300 The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 

before the wind of his powerful and unique temperament, 
but, in the end, the simile only forced his intelligence a little 
nearer to the pit of despair. 

From whence did the wind come? Whither was it going? 
He shivered as he looked forward and back, like a man 
trapped between two inhuman and irresistible monsters. 

Where did he come from? Out of what realms of inde- 
pendent feeling? out of what empty places? out of what 
bleak womb of sensation ? 

As a baby he could remember holding back the common 
cry of nature, lest it should evoke the common and dis- 
dained form of condolence. Repression had been the 
favorite sugar-plum, long before he could gauge the 
quality of the sugar on it. With him it had been an instinct 
to endure, to misname, to circumvent, to defy; to worst 
authority in any and every shape; to go down, time after 
time, under the cuffs of circumstance, and come up with 
all the indifference he could assume. And, for a second 
hobby, he had tested and succumbed to all the meaner 
forms of power ; he could recall the royal edict of annihila- 
tion pronounced over the beetle, and the riper forms of this 
abominable tendency, by which, under the sheltering name 
of ''sport,’’ he had hounded creatures innumerable out of 
their all too brief share of existence. 

Peer as sharply as he could into the gloom behind, it was 
to find nothing but death, reproach, and cruelty. No single 
friend stretched him a hand, for he had offered his to 
none. 

He had achieved nothing, save epigrams, whose increas- 
ing paucity of meaning had reduced life to a nutshell. He 
had nothing to show for it. He had babbled complacently 
of a row of pictures, but the figures in them, even that of 
the lurid dancing-girl, were artificial. They all moved in 
the fashion of an expensively constructed toy, and he had 
been compelled to look that night upon the movements of a 
living, pulsing woman. It was impossible to ignore any 
longer the line of division. His toys must go, as he had 
told Alva that hers must, but — what was to replace them ? 


The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 301 

That journey with her into the four corners of the globe, 
which he had promised himself should do duty for what the 
fanciful call an escape into the infinite, was forbidden, and 
what was left to him ? 

He could still destroy, but there was a limit, he began 
to fear, to destructible matter. 

He had skirted the natural order persistently, remorse- 
lessly, and now the friend he had chosen to call an enemy 
having been obliged to retreat, step by step, he found him- 
self upon the ground of his desire; and it was barren 
ground, and he — an emperor of negation. 

Faintly there came to him the cry of those he had broken 
upon the wheel of his inability to combine pleasure and 
profit, but the cry was not to his pity or his power. He 
was only the breaker, and they were calling, in their many- 
noted voices, for the mender. 

He began to lose even his affectation of calm. He began 
to rage against this sense of impotence. He cursed the old 
man downstairs and the disease with which he had been 
inoculated. The paralysis had seized his father’s body, but 
it had its tentacles in his mind. Struggling to free himself 
from the deadly embrace of this conviction, he arraigned 
before him a row of lighter questions. 

How did the discovery affect his actual, social position? 
Was his comfort touched or his influence reduced? Sup- 
pose his world enlightened, would it turn its shoulder? 
Here, at least, he found a point of reassurance, for it was 
certain that society would show no open hostility. It would 
stare a little, like the ill-mannered child it was; it would 
whisper and nudge the elbows of its neighbor with sup- 
pressed intelligence, but it would never budge an inch from 
its position of effusive cordiality. That much was certain. 
He was not sure that, the cradle being legitimate, it would 
not find in his position an element of the grotesque, cal- 
culated to enhance the original value. 

Wine, wife, and song were, therefore, left untouched. 
What could he make of that trio of sirens? The first 
catered to weakness of the head; the second to weakness 


302 The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 

of the heart; the third to weakness of the imagination. 
With an impatient gesture he consigned them all three to 
the limbo of exhausted emotions. He craved for that which 
should cater to faculty, not to the lack of it. 

There were the professions. It was not too late to 
master one of them. Other men rode such hacks to the 
death, but then other men had not drunk the cup of mental 
sensation down to its sour dregs. They had not forced the 
ignorance, designed to assuage the pang of life, out of its 
natural place. For them the coat of many colors had still 
its attraction. They saw no dirty linen beneath the trini 
uniform ; no toy sword in the fine scabbard ; no ‘‘ asses’ 
ears beneath the reverent purple.” They had been content 
to accept the show at its vaunted valuation ; they had been 
content to spin out the game to its threescore-and-ten 
conclusion. 

It was too late to go with them ; he had denounced their 
route and their taste so unequivocably. 

He had presumed to disdain, and now, in his turn, he 
stood disdained — outlawed. He saw himself, like some sun 
of desperation, round which the cheerful system of daily 
life revolved in utter indifference. 

He could not lift his scared eyes to the hills, for, long 
ago, those hills had been reduced to a dead level. No ideal 
called ; no sweet secreted hope whispered ; he could and he 
must fall, but not to his knees, for he was of one piece 
throughout. No knife, however subtly wielded, could sever 
the sound from the unsound. 

He looked at Alva, and saw in her the sum total of his 
remaining interest in life. And Alva, the one remaining 
woman with power and will to magnetize him into action, 
was no more than sister ” to him — echo of him. Thus 
did fortune translate the single mystery left upon his 
stage. 

Alva gone, the secret of his house gone, even his self- 
control rocking — what was there to linger for? 

And now he faced squarely the problem of the night, 
the problem that had actually frightened him into temporiz- 


The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 303 

ing with his own faculties of analysis. From the first 
moment when he had found and given his mother the fatal 
name of the lost child, he had known the doom upon his 
heels. He had known it and he had winced from it. So far 
was he bound by the vulgar law, but no farther. His edu- 
cation should, at least, teach him to do neatly and with 
dignity what was usually accomplished only with an exu- 
berance of emotion. 

If it had been something of a shock to his vanity to 
discover he was not quite so bloodless as he had fancied, it 
was a relief to find his muscles and nerves answering so 
promptly to the rallying voice. Coolly he regarded the 
door of exit, telling himself that if it had been made use 
of by all the rank and file of the incompetent and unbal- 
anced, it had not been taken in his fashion. He fled before 
no woman and no earthly law. It was not pressure, but the 
lack of pressure, that drove him through, and, with recov- 
ered mastery of body and mind, he made his few prepara- 
tions. 

But, as he seated himself in his comfortable chair before 
the hearth, as he fingered the derringer he had loaded so 
neatly, and felt the chill of its metal frame against his warm 
and steady fingers, he felt, besides, a thrill of unexpected 
movement in his breast. Something stirred where all had 
been frozen. A little stream of unsuspected life started 
from some source he failed to locate, and hurried forward, 
in the wake of his purpose ; but, like a curious crowd fol- 
lowing the promise of adventure, this novel sensation, 
instead of hampering him, served to inspire his self-appre- 
ciation. It was as though he operated on a more vital organ 
than he had anticipated. 

For a second or so his mind was big with complacency. 
But not thus easily and blindly was he to pass the dark 
portal. Just as the fatal impulse started, there sprang sud- 
denly before his reluctant mind the image of a cross. 
Vainly he strove to twist his writhing lips into a superior 
smile; vainly he called up the recollections, the convictions 
of a lifetime ; vainly he termed the rude emblem of sacrifice 


304 The Way All the Straws Were Blowing 

an exploded theory — a sentimental relic ; denunciation 
shriveled and shrank, as a ghost before the dawn, and it 
was with the Lord, remember me ’’ of the confessed thief, 
that he went out to meet the fate he had so glibly chal- 
lenged. 


CHAPTER XXX 


j A QUESTION OF FIFTY POUNDS 

■: Griselda sat in the sunny bow-window of her boudoir 

' while a summer wind gamboled in the garden below. Soft 
gusts of it slipped through the pane she had set ajar, to 
shake the curtains of Indian muslin or to trifle with the 
flowers in the glass bowl upon the sill. 

: The sun, with the help of the glass and the water in it, 
threw bars of violet and rose and yellow on the white frock 
of the baby in her lap, and he struggled to catch the daz- 
; zling toy in the ineffectual fashion common to a few 
months’ acquaintance with life. 

His mother had plenty of foolish ideas to exchange with 
him. 

‘‘ Butter-fingers ! ” she would exclaim, when a specially 
I ill-judged effort had failed of its purpose. ‘‘ Now you have 
I him; hold tight,” she would add a little later; “ we’ll undo 
I one finger ever so carefully, and peep in.” But, lo! the 
radiant prisoner had disappeared, and the child would stare 
from his empty pink palm to the mock-astonished face 
above him, and frown his inability to cope with the incon- 
sistencies of life. 

It was an engrossing pastime to examine the varied pos- 
sibilities concealed in this new and living plaything. In a 
hundred ways she tested the embryo mind, hunting tire- 
lessly for a key to its mechanism, chancing now upon a 
layer of prose, now upon a dainty bud of a fancy, now upon 
a tendency so familiar as to be startling. 

Little Harry bore a strong (the indifferent might perhaps 
have called it a grotesque) likeness to his sire, and it pleased 
Griselda to launch at the son many of the adventurous 
assertions she had never dared to offer to the father. 


305 


306 A Question of Fifty Pounds 

Tm a fraud/’ she would say at times, and it was oddly 
comforting to have the confession treated with levity. 

I’ve deceived you over and over again,” she would add, 
and this effigy of a judge would offer her absolution in the 
form of a series of ecstatic chuckles. 

“ It’s no laughing matter,” she would occasionally persist, 
with an undercurrent of gravity in her voice. You’re for- 
getting yourself ; try and remember that you’ve a strong 
bias towards law and order.” 

But the baby would jovially insist that the only bias he 
recognized was towards the carpet, and he would fling him- 
self backwards with a violence of enthusiasm that it re- 
quired considerable physical strength to cope with success- 
fully. 

Sometimes she shook him, but in too cajoling a manner 
to rouse his indignation. 

To be so close,” she would whisper, ‘‘ and to see nothing ! 
Dear, blind boy, it isn’t fair or kind or safe.” 

But the incorrigible infant would insist that it was, at 
least, intensely funny, and he would gurgle his complete 
contempt for that same undercurrent of emotion she sought 
to set flowing in a portentous direction. 

‘‘ You might have told him,” she would complain, when 
the near approach of sleep made him less exacting as to her 
expression. ‘‘You promised to tell him; it’s partly what 
you were sent for. I’ve done a lot for you, but you won’t 
do anything for me. You’re like the man who ‘ eats well 
and sleeps well, but, put a bit of work before him, and he’s 
all of a dither.” 

This was of course a joke, and little Harry usually 
roused himself up to laugh at it, while she laughed with 
him, though a trifle ruefully. 

Occasionally his acumen scented her lack of enthusiasm. 
He would emit a warning grunt, as he stared suspiciously 
into her troubled face, and it was advisable to oifer him 
the tip of a finger to bite, by way of reassurance. 

“ I’m a stranger to you,” she would go on, when his 
lashes fell once more on to his pink cheeks, “ and some day 


A Question of Fifty Pounds 307 

the cloud will burst, and we haven’t got an umbrella be- 
tween us. It will be rain all day and rain every day, and 
you won’t find things quite so pleasant, Harry Dorset, 
junior. Your comforts will go to the wall, for I shan’t 
have the heart to play with you.” But again he would 
grunt, this time a refusal to be imbued with the pessi- 
mistic spirit, and, remorsefully, she would cuddle him 
close. 

Courage usually came to her as the tiny creature drifted 
out from all consciousness of her tender hold and murmur- 
ing voice. Her pulse would flutter the invigorating tale of 
great achievement. 

She was prepared to fold her hands in penitence or 
appeal ; but instinctively she felt that such an attitude 
would be the voluntary submission of one conscious force 
to another. She felt her own justification, though as yet 
, she could not have expressed it, and it was generally to a 
! cradle of optimistic feeling that she dismissed her troop of 
painful memories. On this particular morning of sunshine 
the baby slept early, and when Joanna appeared to carry 
away her unexacting burden, Griselda was more loth than 
usual to let him go. 

I Joanna had been installed as nurse for nearly a month, 
I and her pride in the position was not yet staled by custom. 
The baby approved her round and rosy face just a little 
more ostentatiously than his mother liked. She was too 
sensible, however, to let this pin-prick of jealousy influence 
her realization of Joanna’s value. The girl could discrimi- 
nate, with almost uncanny ease, between the meaning of a 
‘‘ goo ” and a gaa,” and she could circumvent a scream, at 
the very moment of emission, by means of some weird noise 
of her own, infinitely less disturbing to the nerves of the 
household. 

She took the child now without rousing anything worse 
than a faint whimper of warning, and carried him away, 
while Griselda spread her stiff arms out and up, trying to 
pretend that it was a relief to feel them empty. 

For a minute or two she sat in luxurious idleness, letting 


308 A Question of Fifty Pounds 

the sunshine play over her, then she turned her head, aware 
that the nurse had returned. 

‘'Forgotten something?’’ she inquired carelessly; but 
Joanna made no answer. She stood in the doorway, plainly 
uncertain how to produce her subject. 

“ Don’t tell me you’re going to be married and leave 
baby,” her mistress exclaimed, alarmed at this unusual air 
of reticence. 

“ I’m sure I don’t want to go, ma’am, not yet awhile. 
I’m in no ’urry. And Warren isn’t neither, if only well 
could be let alone.” 

“Warren?” said Griselda; and at the mention of that 
name a flock of troubled memories surged into her mind. 

“ Yes, mum. ’E’s got ’is notice — this day month, and no 
reason given — just ‘you don’t suit’; that’s what’s put 
’is back up, ma’am. But the master never ’as taken to Jim 
from the first. It was only to please you as ’e agreed to 
give ’im a trial.” 

“ I can’t interfere again, Joanna; understand that.” 

“ Yes, ma’am, we’re not asking you to.” 

“ Then what are you asking for ? ” Griselda inquired. 

“ Well, ma’am. It’s not easy to say. It’s all beyond me, 
the letter and the money and all ; but Jim won’t listen, and 
nothing ’ll serve ’im but I’m to speak to you.” 

“ Letter ? Money ? Whatever are you talking about ? ” 

“ You may well ask, ma’am. The letter’s one as Warren 
picked up.” 

She paused, distinctly embarrassed. 

“ Yes? ” said Griselda, politely but not encouragingly. 

“ And ’e wants a lot of money for it.” 

“Really?” said her mistress as before. 

“ I don’t ’old with meddling with other folks’ letters,” 
the girl explained hurriedly, “ but ’e’s different, ma’am. An 
ill man to cross, as I told you once before. ’E says I’m to 
tell you as ’e picked it up, down somewhere south — I can’t 
remember names, but ’e says you’ll remember fast enough.” 

“ Is it a letter of mine he picked up ? and have you 
brought it back to me, Joanna ? ” 


A Question of Fifty Pounds 309 

“ It’s your letter, ma’am, but Jim says ” — she reddened 
i and stopped again, but finding her mistress silent, she made 
an effort and produced the man’s message — ‘‘ ’e wants fifty 
pounds for it, ma’am.” 

‘‘ Is he quite mad, Joanna? ” 

That’s what I asked ’im, but ’e sticks to it — fifty 
' pounds. You see, ma’am,” she went on, more volubly, 
“ Warren wants to try ’is luck in the Colonies. Says ’e 
isn’t appreciated in these parts, and ’e wants to take me 
.along, and — it all costs money.” 

I ‘‘ Oh, I can follow that part of the story very easily, 
Joanna. What I want to know is — why should I supply 
the money ? ” 

‘‘ It does seem a deal,” said the girl simply, ‘‘ for a bit of 
, an old letter.” 

‘‘ It must be a very valuable letter. How does Warren 
describe it ? ” 

|! ‘‘ ’E says, ma’am, that it’s a sort of — of love-letter.” 

I Griselda contrived to laugh in a rather hysterical fashion, 
1 ! but apparently the maid found it convincing and reassuring. 
[ Her face brightened, and she showed a sympathetic line of 
;; strong, white teeth. 

“ Well, I thought it was a fool’s game all along,” she 
said eagerly. ‘‘ But I never know when Jim’s making game 
of me. And ’e looked glum enough,” she added, her smile 
fading. 

‘‘ Fifty pounds for a letter I wrote! You must tell him 
I the joke didn’t appeal to me.” 

‘‘ Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell ’im as you only laughed; and I’m 
ji sure, for my part, I’m glad it is a joke,” she finished cor- 
[ dially. 

il But as the girl made a movement to depart, Griselda 
,1 spoke again. It was all very well to laugh at Joanna, but 
dared she laugh at the man with the glum face and his 
1; exorbitant demand? She was by no means sure that she 
could. While she considered the matter it would be well to 
give him an ambiguous answer. 

You mustn’t tell him that,” she began cautiously. 


310 A Question of Fifty Pounds 

Warren’s a man it doesn’t do to laugh at. You must tell 
him I was very astonished — that I’ll speak to him myself 
by-and-by; that I suppose he wants a wedding present, 
and that I shall give you one, Joanna, but it certainly won’t 
be as big as the one he asks for. As for the — the love- 
letter,” — she managed to infuse a delicate note of irony 
into the term — ‘‘ I shall expect him to return it to me, just 
as I should expect him to return my handkerchief if he 
picked it up. I’m afraid, Joanna, you’re going to marry 
an unscrupulous person.” 

I’m afraid I am, ma’am,” the girl agreed, but with an 
accent of pride rather than of anxiety. ‘‘ I’ll try and re- 
member all that,” she added, as she turned a second time to 
leave the room. 

This time she was not recalled, though her mistress 
looked after her departing figure with an air of uncer- 
tainty. 

Left alone, she began to move restlessly about the room, 
her hands behind her back, her forehead wrinkled in per- 
plexity. 

‘‘ What in the world am I going to do ? ” she said more 
than once, in an audible and miserable voice. 

Eventually she sat down at her work-table, and taking a 
strip of cambric out of the basket standing upon it, she 
proceeded to set a row of tiny tucks in the material. She 
worked mechanically, but very neatly, for she had acquired 
considerable skill with her fingers during the last six 
months. And as she worked, she thought ceaselessly upon 
the answer she was to make to that exorbitant demand. 
Was there any form in which she could present the story to 
her husband, that would convince him of its inconsequence ? 
For it was inconsequent; it did not belong, in the remotest 
degree, to her life with him. But would he see this impor- 
tant line of distinction? She doubted it, and the doubt 
pressed upon her courage, her common-sense — even upon 
her morality. His face would harden — oh ! she knew the 
look. He gave it to her mother — to the wives of certain 
of his acquaintance ; he had nearly — very nearly given it to 


I A Question of Fifty Pounds 31 1 

I her, but she had turned play-actress just in time to stop 
him. Oh! he would forgive, as he had forgiven that 
; hysterical outburst of the autumn, but it was not forgive- 
ness she wanted of him. 

A sensation of deadly lassitude came over her, and she 
' let the work fall, with her hands, into her lap. She lay 
I back in her chair and looked up, with dull eyes, at the intri- 
I cate pattern wrought into the plaster of the ceiling. She 
I looked at cupids, round and roguish, bound to one another 
by garlands of roses and leaves. She frowned at them and 
their inadequate, absurd insinuations. They professed to 
tell the story of life, but they concealed all the facts under 
pretty imagery; they trapped so many into the net, and 
smiled so wantonly over the struggles of their victims. 
Love went deeper than the root of a rose; it asked too 
much from the mother-breast. The force that had rioted 
so extravagantly in the schoolroom was half spent, was fail- 
ing her, as it had failed others. She was aware that she 
had never fully recovered her physical strength, and 
the climax was coming. 

When Harry came to join her at lunch, she had come to 
no decision, and all unconsciously he played into the hands 
of her weaker self. It was obvious that he had come home 
for an hour of recreation. He refused to see any appeal 
behind the wistfulness of her smile. And she dared not 
snap the thread of this half conscious obtuseness ; dared not 
snap any thread that bound her to this man and his limi- 
I tations. The nearer he came to her the more clearly could 
she hear the tune of temperamental disunion, but the more 
she heard of it, the more resolutely and obstinately did she 
repudiate her own intelligence. Let the look on his face 
be valueless, she must preserve it. Were his eyes to nar- 
row at her, as they had threatened to do more than once, 
some spring, on which her buoyancy depended, would snap. 
He might be strong enough and shrewd enough and gener- 
ous enough to read that letter and to smile over it, but she 
dared not run the risk of offering such a test to his faith in 
her. She would run other and baser risks first. She 


312 A Question of Fifty Pounds 

would see Warren and learn how far his power and his 
malice could go. Might it not be possible to invoke so bold 
and scornful an attitude that the ill-educated bully would 
succumb to it? Might she not recover and destroy that 
ridiculous, but dangerous, document by the same myste- 
rious output of personal magnetism that had altered, once 
before, the direction of many lives? Alva had yielded to it 
readily; Harry had followed suit. If only that same breath 
of lawless courage would invade her pulses, that had been 
born of music, of scent, of careless egoism! But, with a 
fall of spirit, she had to acknowledge that, as yet, she felt 
no supernatural advocacy behind her purpose. 

Late in the afternoon she wandered out into her garden ; 
lingering for a minute or two on the upper terrace, where 
the sun was hot and the flowers were patterned curiously; 
where the bees popped fussily in and out of the poppies, 
setting their bright heads nodding with satisfaction or in- 
dignation ; idly she wondered which. 

Then she moved on towards the kitchen garden, stopping 
repeatedly to pull up a weed here, or to snip a dead pansy- 
head there, but going steadily, if slowly, in one direction — 
towards the spot where she would be in full view of the 
stables, the spot to which, presently, Warren would come, 
to worst or be worsted. When she reached it a sense of 
chill came over her. It lay in shadow and in silence ; there 
was no sunshine, and there were no cheerful bees. It was 
almost a relief when at length there came to her ear the 
sound of a heavy footfall. 

‘‘ Good afternoon, Warren. Have you brought me my 
letter?’’ she said, so quickly and so easily as momentarily 
to disconcert him. 

Yes — no — yes — ma’am,” he stammered. 

She put out an imperious hand. 

‘‘ You should have returned it long ago. I can’t under- 
stand why you didn’t. And it was exceedingly imper- 
tinent to make a joke of the matter with your simple 
Joanna.” 

But the man had recovered from his first surprise, 


A Question of Fifty Pounds 313 

f! It wasn't a joke, ma'am. I shouldn't think of joking 
I about anything serious." 

It was Griselda's turn to show dismay, though she tried 
to cover it by sharp speaking. 

'' Look here, Warren. I can't have any more of this 
nonsense. I'm sorry Mr. Dorset won't keep you. I did 
'what I could, but the plan doesn't work. You don't suit 
the place, and you'll have to go. I shall hate to lose 
Joanna, and I think the Colonies will be a risk; but of 
course that's your affair. I shall give Joanna a wedding 
present, as I told her to tell you, but it won't be fifty 
pounds or anything like that sum." 

She had hoped to introduce a jocular remark at this 
point, but the expression on his face made it impossible. 

•' “ I don't want a present from you, ma’am," he said 

shortly. 

Then what do you want ? " 

‘‘ I want fifty pounds." 

I For the letter? " she retorted, with as much light of dis- 
i dain as she could command ; a letter you've no right to 
: possess? " 

(I “ You'd no right to strike me in the face with your whip," 
he said doggedly, “ so the least we both say about the 
rights the better." 

“ Where did you find it ? " she asked helplessly. 

‘‘ About a hundred yards from the gate of The Monk's 
Revel." 

‘‘ And what makes you suppose it worth so much 
■ money?" 

‘‘ Various things, ma'am. In the first place, Mr. Glover 
was main anxious to find it." 

“ He offered you money ? " she began incautiously. 

i | ‘‘Yes, ma'am; but I didn't want money for it — not at 
jthat time, anyway; and it wasn't for the letter money was 
offered." 

“ Then how do you know he was anxious to find it ? " 

“ I see him, ma'am, some time before he sees me. I was 
lighting my pipe at the wayside — got off my bike for that 


314 A Question of Fifty Pounds 

purpose, and I catches sight of the letter. To tell you 
truth, I made nothing of the find till I see the gentleman 
coming along, a-poking and a-peering into all the bushes. 
When ’e gets alongside I waits to be asked questions, but 
none fome. That’s queer, thinks I. We talks for a 
minute, quite pleasant, of the weather and of the peculiari- 
ties of the other sex, and ’e offers me money for the 
second time, and I tells ’im it isn’t owed and it isn’t wanted, 
and ’e says ‘ Good day,’ and goes off. And by-and-by, 
when ’e thinks ’e’s out of sight ’e begins poking and peering 
again, and I begins putting two and two together.” 

‘‘ And what,” she asked coolly, “ do your two and two 
make?” 

‘‘ Fifty pounds,” he answered curtly. 

‘‘ My arithmetic doesn’t go so far as yours, Warren. 
You’ll have to explain how you got such a remarkable 
answer to such a trifling sum.” 

‘‘ Well, ma’am. I’m prepared to do that. You see, the 
gentleman wanted the letter main bad and wouldn’t ask for 
it. There’s one figure for you. The writing was uncom- 
mon pretty, a lady’s writing. There’s another figure. The 
only lady as I’d seen ’im with was yourself. There’s figure 
three. And the only lady as I’d a quarrel with was your- 
self likewise. That’s my fourth figure. I put ’em all to- 
gether, and I went to a friend a bit better educated than 
myself — in the acting way, ma’am, and well used to reading 
love-letters of all sorts and kinds. This letter, so ’e said, 
wasn’t an ordinary letter; ’e couldn’t swear it was a love- 
letter, but ’is advice was, don’t let go for nothing. Well, 
I didn’t let go, but I’d pretty near forgotten all about it, 
when I come to town to see Joanna, and I see you at the 
same time, ma’am. Then the idea comes in my ’ead : ' try 
it on,’ and I tried it on as you’ll remember, and you got me 
the place.” 

‘‘Yes, for Joanna’s sake,” she put in quickly. 

“ Well, ma’am, that’s the point. Was it all for Joanna’s 
sake ? ” 

He was looking keenly at her, and she managed to meet 


' A Question of Fifty Pounds 315 

{his eye steadily. She even managed a smile. She was 
I quick-witted enough to see that her chance of worsting him 

• lay in persuading him she trifled with the situation; that 
•she meant to punish his audacity by leading him on, forcing 
him to commit himself definitely to the crime of blackmail. 
He had his doubts of her class. He had been fooled before 
[by members of it. He chose his ground carefully, for 
ithere were one or two places where it would be possible for 
[him to slip. His melodramatic friend might have exagger- 
lated the value of those peculiar remarks. Or again, such 
remarks might be common among the upper ten, whose 
'ways of thinking had long puzzled him. She had certainly 
interfered once on his behalf, but that might have been 

Ijmerely for her maid's sake. She had a nervous look and 
j a smiling eye ; she might be playing with the situation or 
1 ' fighting it. He would not commit himself rashly to de- 
fiance. On the whole, he fancied that he held her pride 
in the hollow of his hand. He fancied he could punish 
the blow she had dealt him, and revenge, at the same time, 
li that abrupt dismissal of his master's. He fancied the 
!T! letter meant, at all events, a certain amount of indiscretion, 
j unconfessed to that superior and arbitrary young man, 
iwho had disliked and distrusted him from the first. 

I don't want to push you, ma'am, and I don't want to 
threaten," he said slowly ; “ I don't suppose you keep fifty 
' pounds in your pocket. There's no particular 'urry. 
jii 3?here's a month before I get the sack, so perhaps you'll be 
i good enough to think the thing over. Maybe the letter 
isn't worth nothing; maybe you're laughing at me in your 
I sleeve ; I don't pretend to understand gentlefolks any more 
I than I pretend to like 'em. Maybe, when you think it over, 
j fifty pounds won't be too much to give to a girl like 
1 Joanna, as you've liked and made a fuss of." 

* Her mouth curled a little at the cheap nature of this 
bulwark to possible concession he was erecting for her, 
but she was still powerless to produce a definite form of 
defiance. He spoke of time, and the word sent a thrill to 
her heart. For it was time she wanted. A month! A 


3i6 a Question of Fifty Pounds 

month in which to garner love and courage, wisdom and 
eloquence ; a month in which to make that indelible impres- 
sion on a heart legitimately hers ; a month in which to find 
that elusive, but certainly existent, hour, which must bring 
him so utterly beneath the spell of her innate loyalty, that 
the true case, and not the circle of accessory and damnatory 
facts about it, could be inserted into her husband's intelli- 
gence. Dimly she became aware that the man was going. 
He was leaving her to this invigorating rush of optimistic 
feeling. Blindly she looked after his retreating figure; 
mechanically she listened to the sound of his steps as they 
died away. But when she found herself alone, her mo- 
mentary sensation of acquittal was disturbed by a detest- 
able memory. 

Time! She had been given time before. What had she 
done with it ? How should one month achieve what all the 
others had failed to achieve? What had delay ever done 
for her, save paralyze her natural powers? A hundred 
recollections of failure — of cowardice flocked up ; and look 
w^here she would in her shame and desperation, it was al- 
ways to find but a single door of escape. 

Fifty pounds? If she recoiled from the figures, it was 
always to return, and to return with a diminution of con- 
tempt for her own weakness ; it was always to find the sig- 
nificance of the sum reduced. She had never been im- 
pressed by money, save as a means to an end, and now, in 
this care-free atmosphere, her old estimate of its triviality 
returned. One wrote the amount on the leaf of a paper 
book and there the matter ended; there was not even the 
chink of coin to remind one of the ingredients that go to the 
making of the sum. And there were all sorts of condoning 
considerations behind this simple solution of the trouble. 
There was Harry's happiness — his peculiar wealth of preju- 
dice, to protect. She would much prefer to be loved with 
understanding, but it was he, not she, who drew the lines so 
sharply, who forced her into dissimulation — from point to 
point of it. She had taken him by this mock force and she 
must hold him by it. It was not her fault but her misfor- 


I A Question of Fifty Pounds 317 

^ tune ; and with the platitude she betook herself indoors, to 
the dainty room, with its incongruous air of peace and 
simplicity, the room she had compelled him to use as freely 
as she did herself, the room where, presently, she would 
play, for the last time, the ignoble game of intrigue. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


A QUESTION OF MORE THAN FIFTY POUNDS 

Dorset was engaged upon the building of his new cot- 
tages, and he came in later than usual. In fact, little Harry 
was being carried out as big Harry strolled in. Griselda 
was accustomed to follow the baby upstairs, to enjoy a 
pleasant skirmish with Joanna concerning the heat of the 
bath, the length of time it was desirable to keep the child 
in it, or any other matter for argument that might come 
uppermost; but to-night she remained in her seat on the 
Chesterfield, and her husband looked with some surprise at 
her, as he handed her the bundle of letters he had secured 
from the postman on his way in. She turned them over 
listlessly, until she reached the last. 

From Alva,'' she said, with a slight access of interest 
in her manner; and she proceeded to open it, while Harry 
poured himself out a cup of tea. 

Any news ? " he asked carelessly. 

‘‘Yes, plenty, of a sort. But it's always the same sort; 
all about poor children from the city. Alva is quite beyond 
me. She used to shrink from dirt and distress of every 
sort, and now she seems to give all her time and all her 
thoughts, and I can't think how much of her money, to 
rescue-work and philanthropy generally. And Peter backs 
her up. His mother's furious, I heard from mama. And 
Mrs. Fawcett is making herself positively ill with disap- 
proval. It's the last use she meant that big dowry to be 
put to, and she's taken an oath not to leave Alva another 
penny." 

He began to laugh, but stopped, aware that Griselda was 
staring mournfully before her. 

318 


A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 319 


j '' What’s up ? ” he inquired. Have you been quarreling 
I with the boy ? ” 

She only shook her head, and he came to sit beside her. 
‘‘Tired, eh? Want to be petted?” 

The opening was too propitious to be ignored. 

“No. I want to be scolded. Fve been extravagant.” 
i She felt him recoil ever so slightly, and then she felt 
— almost she saw — the impulse that brought him back to 
liher. 


“ You always were. You were badly brought up, Gri- 
selda.” 

The levity was forced; but that he should produce it at 
all, was a concession she was not slow to appreciate. 

“ I want fifty pounds, Harry,” she said ; and now he 
started back, far enough to get a full view of her face. 

“ Give me your bills to add up. You’re such a duffer at 
arithmetic. Last time you went wrong you had the shil- 
lings running into the pound column.” 

“ Yes, but not this time,” she answered almost inaudibly. 

“Fifty pounds, Griselda? It’s nonsense — or else mis- 
management.” 

“Yes; that’s just what it is. Nonsense and mismanage- 
ment. It will cost all that to get straight again. It’s a 
great deal, I know it is, but — but ” 

“ But you’ve two hundred a year,” he finished for her. 
“ You said it was enough — more than enough — when I gave 
it you.” 

He stopped in his turn, for the tears were welling from 
beneath her lowered lids. It was terrible — fatal, to collapse 
so early, but even as the prevision of despair came to her, 
she felt his hand on her hair. 

“ Don’t cry ; tell me where it went to.” 

This unexpected return to gentleness was almost unen- 
durable. She turned her head away, leaving her childish 
profile to his scrutiny. 

“ It’s a nuisance,” he went on, “ but it isn’t a tragedy. 
Come, tell me how you got into such a knot.” 

“ I didn’t calculate,” she said with difficulty, for the tears 


320 A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 

were in her throat as well, choking her utterance. ‘‘ I 
never learnt to calculate. But it’s the last mistake, and I 
promise to make it good. I only want you to lend it me. 
I can pay it back. It’s very foolish of me, but I didn’t 
guess that money mattered very much to us. You seemed 
to like to feel my hand in your pocket — not quite so much 
lately, perhaps. I might have known — I ought to have 
known that cottages cost a lot of money to build. I won’t 
forget again, indeed I won’t.” 

She turned to him, but found a less amenable aspect than 
she had expected. He was looking, not at her, but down 
at the carpet, seeing, she felt sure, a vision of his cottages, 
his tenantry, his whole scheme of fitness sacrificed to the 
whims of a selfish, stupid woman. 

But the mere reminder of possible condemnation from 
him was enough to recall all her fighting qualities. Again 
she was the prey of a single exigeant idea. She must tear 
the fatal letter, ship her enemy to the Colonies. The right 
and the wrong in the affair ceased to affect her. She must 
remain the mistress of his heart at any cost. All her in- 
genuity rushed to the protection of this insistent need. 

‘‘ Look at me, Harry. Not that way. That’s the look 
you give mama, and I won’t bear it. Write the cheque, 
and then forget all about it, and come back to our happi- 
ness. Couldn’t you — wouldn’t you — ^believe my promise 
that it’s the last time I’ll ask such a thing? IVe grown 
up in a night to — to an understanding of the value of 
money. After to-day I shall be just like the wives of other 
people.” 

I don’t know that I want that,” he admitted, yielding 
reluctantly to the influence she exercised. 

Impulsively she put out her hands and drew his face 
close to her own, relieved to be out of range of his eyes. 

“ I thought you’d be so much more angry,” she whispered 
into the ear nearest. 

‘‘ So I will, next time.” 

‘‘ I thought you’d want to go through all my accounts, 
and find fault with every item.” 


A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 321 

So I will, if there’s the faintest chance of your having 
made a mistake.” 

‘‘ There isn’t,” she assured him hastily. But tell me 
something. Where will the fifty pounds come from ? ” 

‘‘ Supposing I’m weak enough to give it you — it will come 
out of the bank.” 

“ I ought to have said, Harry, where would it have gone 
to if I hadn’t asked for it?” 

“ I can’t tell you.” 

“ You mean you won’t tell me.” 

Not till you pay me back, at all events. Now let me 
go, and I’ll write the cheque for you, against my principles, 
you know.” 

‘‘Will you think hard thoughts while you are writing?” 
she questioned, the hint of coquetry concealing consider- 
able anxiety. 

“ You’re expensive. I shall probably have to think that. 
Almost as expensive, Griselda, as that new cob of mine. 
According to Craddock we’ve nothing to offer such a 
high-class animal. He wants a new outfit, from shoes to a 
loose-box.” 

But she did not laugh. Instead, she looked nervously at 
him. 

“ Oh, that’s where the fifty pounds will come from ! I 
understand,” she said bitterly. “ That’s how you’ll pay me 
back. You’ll sell the new cob; you’ve had an offer already 
— Craddock told me — but you refused, and now — you’re 
going to accept it. You’ll use that horrid, thick-legged roan 
Annie forced you to take off her hands, and I shall be 
miserable.” 

He looked discomposed at her sagacity in following what 
he flattered himself was an elusive trail. 

“ I’d serious thoughts of selling from the first, only 
Craddock over-persuaded me,” he explained. “ There’s no 
point in pottering round on an animal of that sort; I’m 
always pottering, you know, and the roan’s good enough 
for that.” 

“You won’t potter after the cottages are finished and 


322 A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 

when Tm out again/’ she declared vehemently. '' I’m going 
to ride next week. Think of the mare you bought me 
beside Annie’s old roan ; it’s ridiculous. If you sell the cob 
I shall know that you’re vindictive.” 

She was meddling now with the thin ice of his generosity. 
The action should hdve seemed unwarrantable under the 
circumstances, and he was puzzled to account for his own 
inward bias towards amenability. For a full minute he sat 
regarding her, searching for that something in her aspect 
that was proving so oddly influential. Perhaps it was the 
touch of physical weakness giving to her youth the sem- 
blance of surrender ; perhaps he recognized in her pose the 
spirit of submission masquerading in a guise of petulant 
authority. At all events he found it possible — even pleas- 
ant — to make this second concession, and he rose, still 
silent, to fetch his cheque-book from the study, on the 
floor below. He re-entered the room softly, and came 
behind her, putting his hands about the rounded childish 
throat. 

I’ve brought it you. It’s in my pocket. I’ve granted 
two exorbitant demands, but in the fairy-tales — and really 
there’s an atmosphere of unreality about this room to-night 
— they always indulge in three at a time. What’s the last, 
Griselda ? ” 

‘‘ I’m keeping it,” she said, in an uncertain voice. ‘'If 
you said ‘ no ’ to it the wheel would stop. This little pulse 
you’re pressing in my neck would begin to beat dully. All 
the pulses in me would grow tired and uninterested. All 
the movement in me hangs on the answer to that last de- 
mand. You won’t ask for it now, will you?” 

On an impulse of tenderness so rare as to startle her he 
leant forward, pressing his face into her hair, murmuring 
broken phrases — lover’s nonsense, carried for the moment 
upon a wave of boyish passion into an extravagance of ex- 
pression she had but seldom induced in him. Coming in 
answer to her treacherous assault it was not to be endured, 
and fiercely she freed herself from his hands. She sprang 
to her feet, looking fearfully at him across the dividing 


A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 323 

sofa, and with an air of ruffled pride, as boyish as his late 
fit of passion, he looked back at her. 

‘‘ You’re incomprehensible to-night,” he complained, and 
thrust his hand into his pocket. He produced the cheque, 
frowned slightly at his own signature, and held it out to 
her. 

Mechanically she took it, folded it small, her eyes always 
on his. She was breathing quickly, and it was as though 
some quality in her was generating force. But if it was 
the impulse towards confession, he was no longer in the 
mood to encourage any freedom of expression. 

High time we went to dress,” he observed lightly and 
abruptly, as he turned to leave the room. 

For a considerable time she stood where he had left her, 
perfectly motionless, save for that rapid rise and fall of her 
breast. She looked down now at the folded paper in her 
palm, as though magnetized by it into that rigidity of body. 
And all the time her mind worked rapidly, painfully. It was 
her generosity that smarted. He had yielded, so quickly, 
so fully. He had offered her so much more than the money. 
With a low cry of self-hatred she broke the spell that held 
her motionless, and the very spirit of nervous unrest 
seemed to assail her. She threw the cheque carelessly 
down upon her desk; she began to pace the room, but it 
grew too small, and on a sudden thought she hurried out of 
it, and up to the nursery on the floor above. 

It was a relief to find the baby crying, and Joanna 
actually ignoring him for the moment, in favor of the tidy- 
ing of a drawer. Griselda embarked eagerly upon a lecture 
concerning the danger of neglecting young children, but as 
Joanna only received it with placid civility, filling every 
pause with a pleasant '' yes indeed, ma’am ” or '' that’s 
very true, ma’am,” she proved a broken reed as safety- 
valve to strong emotions. 

‘‘If you’re going to stay and see ’im off, ma’am,” she 
said, as soon as her mistress finished the harangue, “ I’ll be 
getting down to my supper. It’s no use two of us being 
worried with a fretful child.” 


324 A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 

She didn’t even leave an opening for objection, but with 
a cheery ‘‘ Good night ” she took herself off. 

She was within her rights, for the hour was late, and 
Griselda had declared her own intention of putting the boy 
to sleep five minutes before, but it was a blow to see that 
broad, black back disappear, for with it went the last bar- 
rier between herself and the real point of disturbance to her 
equanimity. 

She paced the nursery floor, as she had paced the one 
below it, and she was grateful, at least, for the wailing of 
the child. It was a divergence from rule, this putting him 
to sleep in her arms, and Joanna knew it. Joanna had been 
meant to tell her so, to argue, to provide a new field of 
exercise for her* agitated mind, and Joanna had played her 
false with her civility and her retreat. Little Harry was 
not slow to appreciate the position. He meant to take his 
time about going to sleep. It was delightful to be ridden 
up and down and chanted to, and rocked about. At every 
slight decrease of exertion on the part of his nurse, he 
emitted a warning cry. He even whimpered a little, at in- 
tervals, when the motion remained steady, just to advertise 
the fact that he was on the qui vive for treachery. 

But Griselda dreaded the moment when this spirit of 
opposition should also fail her and sink to sleep, for then 
she would be at the mercy of these new revolutionary 
thoughts and impressions. She would be compelled to 
accept them in all their exacting cruelty. 

Thirty, forty times she crossed the long room, singing of 
Peter Piper and Peter Pan, of a baby on a tree-top and a 
kitten in a well, and all the while a hammer was beating 
steadily into her consciousness the knowledge that the vic- 
tory of the afternoon was vain. It was appalling; it was 
illogical ; it was insulting to reason, but momentarily it be- 
came more clear to her perceptions that she could not make 
use of her material success. 

In vain the old arguments, the old fears, threatened her 
with destruction; in vain she reminded herself that she was 
still a stranger to this husband she had tricked ; in vain she 


A Question of More than Fifty Pounds 325 

I told herself that she could not live, save in amity with him, 
and always each argument was met and worsted by the 
same irresistible intuition: that it was mock union she 
struggled to set face to face with real union. And the 
reason for this sudden change of front? 

Reason! The word made her smile. Reason had little 
i to do with the rush of emotion born of his touch. She 
was yielding, melting, losing her fighting qualities, at the 
memory of those hands about her throat, at the memory of 
his face pressed suddenly against her hair. Doubtless to 
himself he was calling that lapse from his usual attitude a 
J weakness, and it was this same weakness and nothing else 
I that took from her every artificial quality. Policy was as 
( wax under the breath of it. She was going back into inno- 
^ cence and candor — or was it forward ? 

When she laid the sleeping baby down, she only knew 
: that she laid aside with the weight of him, another weight — 
that of self-disgust and indecision. She lingered, staring 

! down at his ludicrous profile, half-buried in the pillow. 
Again there swept through her with the might of wind, an 
impression of advocacy, and again it was the great French 
poet who could have worded for her the translation of it. 

I ‘‘ Grace an nom du berceau/' he had pleaded more than 
1 1 once for other unfortunates, and not in vain. 

I i Griselda had not heard these stories, but she felt the 
courage creeping into her veins. It was not the courage 
that had come to her in that dim conservatory of what now 
seemed to be the days of long ago. There was no scent of 
II flowers about it, no note of music, no treading on air, no 
- sense of irresponsibility. This was no fairy coaxing her 
willing feet back to her dear deserted play-room. She 
went down to war and the horrid details of war. She 
went slowly planning her tactics, struggling to produce out 
of the chaotic medley of her sensations the single line of 
defense that should lead, not only to forgiveness, but to 
■ justification. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE THIRD AND LAST DEMAND 

While Harry smoked his after-dinner cigar by himself, 
his wife, alone in the drawing-room, saw fit to make a first 
and a decisive move in the new scheme of action. 

Had she been less absorbed by the moral aspect of the 
affair, she might have remembered that it is scarcely wise 
to burn all your boats when venturing into an unknown 
and possibly hostile country; but it was her own, inner 
impulse towards treachery that she feared when she put a 
steady finger on the bell and despatched the man who an- 
swered her summons, to fetch Joanna. 

The girl came promptly, and with the air of one who 
hurries to meet reassuring news. 

'‘You’ve seen Warren, I suppose, Joanna?” 

"Yes, ma’am. I’ve just come from ’im. And it isn’t a 
joke, ma’am, and ’e says the answer you sent isn’t satis- 
factory and you’d be sure to change it.” 

Plainly the simple creature waited for another, more 
calculated to satisfy her incomprehensible tyrant, but her 
face fell as she realized that this new attitude was less 
likely to please even than the last her mistress had taken 
up. 

" He’s quite right. I had no business to treat the matter 
so lightly; but I was surprised for the moment at such 
impertinence. Here’s the right answer to it, Joanna. Tell 
him he is to do precisely what he pleases with the letter, 
since, for some reason, he doesn’t seem inclined to return it 
to its writer. The owner is dead, as he probably knows, 
and the letter is of no consequence to anybody. But if he 
thinks it is, if he thinks there’s fifty pounds or even fifty 

326 


! 

The Third and Last Demand 327 

i pence in it, he's perfectly at liberty to try and get it — only 
not from me/' she finished, with unmistakable resolution. 

Oh dear, dear ! I daren't give Jim that message," 
Joanna moaned. 

'' I order you to give it him. There's no hurry, of 
course," she added more gently. ‘‘ Choose your opportu- 
nity, when he's in a good temper; he is in a good temper 
' now and then, I suppose ? " 

“ There'll be such a fuss as never was, ma'am." 

'' You must expect fuss and worry, if you agree to 
marry a man of that stamp. We don’t care to have ser- 
vants about us with such unpleasant ways of trying to 
make money. You can go, Joanna, for I haven't anything 
more to say." 

i She had caught the sound of her husband's whistle in the 
passage leading to the dining-room. The girl had caught 
it too, and, with a last troubled look backward, she took her 
departure. 

I It was mysterious and reassuring to find herself listening 
I with positive equanimity to that approaching step. Was it 
I possible, that to the defense of all the finer issues of life 
' there flocked the qualities necessary for their protection? 

There was a ring of energy in the voice with which she 
I hailed the new arrival. 

I ''I want you so badly! Come and sit beside me, quite 
close. I've something to tell you." 

He took the place she indicated — the arm of the big 
|l chair, and looked with lazy appreciation into her animated 
ilj face. 

; Surely you've told me enough for one day." 

I've told you too much, Harry. I want to untell some 
of it. I don't want the money after all." 

'‘What? You added up the figures wrong?" 

" Yes — but not the figures in my account-book," she ex- 
plained more slowly. 

" Now, don't be enigmatical. We're talking of fifty 
pounds. If you wanted it before dinner, why don't you 
want it now ? " 


328 The Third and Last Demand 

Tm going to tell you; that’s why I called to you.” 

“ But you’re such a long time about it,” he complained 
irritably. 

‘‘ Haven’t you ever made mistakes, Harry ? ” 

Not in my accounts — at least, not to such a big extent. 
Mind you, it’s a comfort to find ourselves on the right side 
of that sum,” he added more amenably, ‘‘ but hurry up and 
tell me how we got there.” 

I can’t be hurried or I shall bring the story out wrong. 
There are questions I must put to you. I want the answers 
to help me across it, as the stepping-stones help one across 
a rough piece of water. Now don’t fidget and don’t frown. 
We’ve got a long evening before us. Were you never like 
other little boys, Harry? Did you never steal the jam out 
of the storeroom cupboard or the apples out of the or- 
chard? Did you never put wet sponges on the top of the 
bathroom door when pompous old gentlemen-visitors were 
going to the bath? Did you never tell lies and get found 
out and thrashed and feel small and horrid and despi- 
cable?” 

Now why this aggressive championship of law and 
order ? ” he inquired, not ill-humoredly. 

I’m not their champion. I’m on the other side ; but 
I want you to be there too, beside me. I want you to 
think of all the things you left undone which you ought to 
have done and vice versa, and, when your mind is black 
with the memories of iniquities, I shall tell you a secret.” 

I’m convinced I shan’t like the secret,” he fenced, half 
in real and half in affected protest against this ominous 
attitude and what it might be expected to presage. 

There are such lots of things you don’t approve,” she 
complained childishly, and she thrust her hands impulsively 
between his. 

‘‘ What am I supposed to do with then\ Griselda ? ” 

To look at them very closely, please.” 

They’re uncommonly pretty.” 

You’re not looking attentively enough.” 

Yielding to her influence, he brought them nearer to his 


The Third and Last Demand 329 

' eyes and turned them over. Still pretty/’ he said, “ and 
all the prettier for that row of tiny scars on the left first 
finger.” 

‘‘ Ah, that’s what I wanted ! ” she exclaimed exultantly. 

Now you’re to examine my face; tell me, can you see any 
little scars on that ? ” 

She brought it close to him, and in silence he regarded it. 

! '‘Well?” she said impatiently, 
j " I can’t see any, Griselda.” 

' She sighed softly, and leant back in her seat, 
j " Is it just the same round, senseless face you saw in 
Mrs. Fawcett’s back drawing-room?” 

" I’m not sure,” he began uncertainly, and stopped. 

" Do you .remember a^l the nonsense I talked that night, 
Harry?” 

" Some of it.” 

“ About the soul ? ” 

“ It never looks out of the window,” he saw fit to quote, 
after reflection. 

I " That’s what I said, in my ignorance, or because I hadn’t 
' a soul to look out in those days. But now I have. Can’t 
you see it ? ” 

Again she leant forward, offering the plastic mask to 
his near inspection. 

" I can see blue water, colored by chance or an ancestress 
with a partiality for that particular shade,” he told her 
teasingly. 

“ The grandmothers are all dead,” she retorted, " dead 
^ and buried ; and quite right too. They had their turn and 
: it’s over. There’s only me here, and I don’t belong to any 
race or family, except our little one. I don’t even belong 
to my old self, and certainly not to mama or to that back 
drawing-room. I belong to you, only to you, Harry. Do 
you believe me ? ” she asked him for the second time. 

" Of course I believe you.” 

But at the simple utterance, to which her fancy attached 
such excess of meaning, her faculties dropped, like birds 
before the gun of an unerring shot. A lump rose in her 


330 The Third and Last Demand 

throat, impeding utterance, swamping all but the divine 
conviction that he understood ; that there would be no need 
to produce that long and complicated argument, tormenting 
to her ingenuity. The alibi she had thought to move only 
by the exercise of superhuman exertion, he would grant her, 
without so much as a question. That girl-sinner of long 
ago was nothing to him ; no more, in fact, than the dolls of 
her childhood were to her. But, as she leant yet closer 
to offer her face and its wealth of rapturous gratitude to 
his kiss, a tap fell on the door. 

She recoiled, and, to her inflamed fancy, the portly figure 
at which she now stared was synonymous with that of 
fate, summoned to her undoing, with due deference to the 
laws of desert and punctuality. 

Groping for a saner explanation of this interruption, her 
terror managed to recall the premature shaft of defiance 
launched so boldly at the enemy of her peace. Could 
Joanna have found with such miraculous speed that pro- 
pitious mood necessary to the conveyance of her message? 
or was she, unlike her mistress, an advocate for prompt 
action ? 

Doubt was all too speedily disposed of by the butler’s 
voice. 

Warren to see you, sir.” 

“ Oh, confound Warren ! I’ve seen quite as much of 
the fellow as I want already.” 

‘‘ The matter was urgent, sir.” 

Very well. Put him in my study. I’ll come directly.” 

The man withdrew, and, as the catch of the door snapped 
behind him, Griselda began to speak nervously. 

I want to tell you myself. Nobody else is to tell you.” 

He shook off her hands, lying appealingly on his sleeve, 
and took up a position with his back to the fire. 

What must you tell me ? ” he said coldly. Where 
the mysterious need for fifty pounds has gone to? ” 

'' About Warren,” she said faintly. You mustn’t go to 
him yet.” 

The slight frown on his face changed to a laugh. 


! The Third and Last Demand 331 

Oh, Warren ! he said disdainfully. Warren’s a 
! question you don’t meddle with again.” 

I But I must.” 

' No, you don’t,” he broke in, now with an air of despotic 
: levity. ‘‘ Joanna’s a nice enough girl, but she isn’t quite 
i indispensable to our comfort. I don’t want to lose her, but 
if Warren’s the only price at which we can keep her, the 
j sooner she goes the better.” 

Listen, Harry.” 

I ''Not to a word,” he said, and moved towards the door, 
from which point he looked back, still with that laugh in 
his eyes, at her air of terrified dejection. 

" If that was the third demand, Griselda, held in reserve. 
I’m afraid you’ll have to consider it unequivocally refused.” 

She had no power to stop him and no right, she whis- 
pered miserably to herself. She had had her chance — her 
hundred chances — to take the affair into her own hands, 
and she had dallied with them — flown from them. True, 
there was that glorious impression of a few minutes back. 
Those few pregnant words of trust, the look that went 
I with them, she could not forget, and she could not resign 
[f herself to desperation with that wonderful memory so 
near. 

Hope and fear began to battle in her breast. 

To the material threat in her occasion she accorded scant 
attention. She felt certain that Harry would cope with 
I that easily enough. He was too deliberate, too self-con- 
trolled to be startled into any expression of astonishment 
or dismay before a servant he both disliked and distrusted. 
He would put the would-be blackmailer (who had through- 
out evinced more malice than confidence) to rout, and 
without resource to any more scandalous weapon than his 
satiric tongue. His laugh would convince the fellow that 
hers had been genuine. He would pass out of their lives; 
but what would pass with him? That was the question. 
In terror she invoked her single champion — that glorious 
moment when he had said, so simply, so convincingly, "Of 
course I believe you.” 


332 The Third and Last Demand 

Surely the mark had been made, and, as surely, it must 
be stronger than any the next hour was to make. He 
might frown ; he might even compel her to some penance 
of explanation; she might be obliged, after all, to produce 
that involved tale of excuse. Alva, she thought, would 
have welcomed such an opportunity for detailed self- 
dissection, but she shrank from it. It meant such expendi- 
ture of patience; it meant such pain. Like Alva, she had 
the ear to catch the rustle in the ancient strips of tapestry ; 
the eye to find a light behind the painted faces in the Gal- 
lery ; like Alva, she called to fairy princes in the night-time, 
but her cry was a vastly different one; it was always: 

come down,’' not ‘‘ take me up.” She, too, had wanted 
the magic, hovering so distractedly just out of reach, but 
she wanted it for the gilding of her prose, for the glorifica- 
tion of that everyday life, to which, more fiercely every 
day, her faculties were consecrated. 

And, meantime, Harry was interviewing the man in the 
study, and looking, for the first time, at the scar, that only 
appeared in moments of rare excitement. 

Warren was excited now. He was aware that his be- 
lated scheme of vengeance would fall to the ground, unless 
very carefully manipulated. He was versed sufficiently in 
the ways of the '' gentry ” to know that they had odd 
scruples concerning the laws of possession, so long — he 
added cynically — as the article in question was not animal, 
and he was convinced his master would only consent to 
read the letter, if persuaded that the writer wished him to 
do so. 

The man had, therefore, been put to considerable trouble 
to find the argument necessary for the creation of such an 
impression. 

“ It’s about my character, sir,” he said civilly ; I know 
you ’aven’t taken to me, and I can’t expect you to tell 
other gentlemen as you ’ave. Still, I’m sure you’ll allow, 
sir, in common fairness, that it’s been more my misfortune 
than my fault that I failed to please.” 

The young man looked at him a trifle less aggressively. 


The Third and Last Demand 333 

' There was enough truth in the statement to make it effec- 
tive. It was mainly upon the Dr. Fell ’’ principle that the 
fellow had been condemned. 

Can’t you dispense with my verdict altogether? ” he in- 
quired. ‘‘ You’ve only been here about six months.’' 

‘‘Well, sir, folks is that particular in these days; they 
don’t like a gap of six months. But there’s this letter, sir ; 
I thought perhaps you wouldn’t object to indorsing what 
the writer says : only that I’m honest and steady and don’t 
shirk my work.” 

He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced an en- 
velope; it contained a couple of sheets of notepaper, and, 
. with an air of hurry, he singled out one and handed it to 
1 his master. The writing was unmistakable, so the man 
trusted was the inference. 

Harry looked sharply at the large, clear, and remarkably 
beautiful formation of the words. It had been a pleasure 
I and something of a surprise to discover anything so perfect 
in Griselda as this handwriting. At the present moment, 
however, his pleasure was swamped in the thought that she 
I had again been working to the advantage of the groom he so 
I cordially disliked. He recalled her anxiety of a few 
minutes back when he had been called away ; her desperate 
attempt to make confession, doubtless of this secret act of 
advocacy. Joanna must have persuaded her to write the 
letter of recommendation which he was asked to endorse. 
It was irritating to have his hand forced in this fashion, 
but it was not criminal, and in any case it did not suit his 
idea of dignity to show any distaste for the task. 

“ I can probably do that much,” he said, and opened the 
letter. 

April 20th, 1906. 

“ Dear Anthony, — I hate myself and you and even 
those beautiful pine-woods. Will I come again? No, a 
I thousand times no ! Why did I ever come — I — who belong 
to somebody else ? ” 

Thus far was he carried by the atmosphere of miscon- 


334 The Third and Last Demand 

struction, but it was far enough, so his persecutor be- 
lieved, to effect the object in view, for in those preliminary 
sentences there stood, to his evil thinking, a pretty strong 
case against the writer of them. 

As he crushed the letter in his hand, Harry knew instinc- 
tively that his recoil was bound to be but temporary. In 
the end he must return and speculate, but in the meantime 
it behooved him to turn a cool glance on to the man opposite. 

He found hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness upon 
tte fellow’s coarse features — in sum, an unmistakable 
answer to part of the puzzle. The letter had been given 
with intention, not in error, as for a moment he had sup- 
posed, remembering that air of hurry. 

Carried away now by what he held to constitute success, 
Warren broke out into voluble and vindictive speech. 

It was writ to Mr. Glover, sir, down in Sussex, while 
you was in foreign parts. I see them together one day, and 
I picks up the letter next day. Mr. Glover ’adn’t the best 
of reputations in our part of the world, sir, as you’ll maybe 
remember — and — I kept the letter.” 

Harry allowed him to get so far without interruption, for 
he required a second or two in which to decide upon his 
own tactics. 

'' Mr. Glover’s reputation isn’t the question,” he an- 
swered coolly. The question is, how does this letter 
come to be in your possession more than a year after it was 
written ? ” 

I tell you I picked it up, sir.” 

And you’ve read it ? ” 

Well, sir, yes sir — that is, a friend read it for me.” 

‘‘ He must have told you to whom it belonged. Why 
didn’t you return it to Mr. Glover ? ” 

Well, sir, there was reasons.” 

Look sharp with them, Warren.” 

Well, sir, it was such a queer letter,” he ventured. 

Queer ? — in what way ? ” 

'' You didn’t read it all, sir.” 

Of course not. It isn’t addressed to me. I shouldn’t 


The Third and Last Demand 335 

!'■' have read any of it if I could have helped myself. It 
wasn't written by me or to me, and I can't conceive why 
j you forced it on to me in that underhand fashion." 
j. Warren grew yet more confused. His latent distrust of 
I the morality of gentlefolks returned to trouble him. If the 
I master didn't object to the beginning of the letter he cer- 
tainly wouldn't object to the rest of it. The man tried to 
I bluster. 

I “ If Joanna wrote a letter like that to any one but me — 
i, I'd see 'er far enough before I married 'er," he said hotly, 
jjj And you'd be quite right, Warren. If she could write 
; a letter of this kind she couldn't be too far removed from 
I you and your sphere." 

Warren understood enough of the meaning of this retort 
I to rouse him into further anger. 

‘‘ I'm not a scholar, sir, nor perhaps is the man I took 
that letter to, but we're not fools, neither, and I tell you, 
Mr. Glover 'ad an uncommon bad reputation down our 
' way." 

I see. And you thought my wife might be unaware of 
I it? But haven't you brought us this kindly warning a 
little late? Mr. Glover's reputation is a thing of the past." 

‘‘I'll tell you straight, sir, what brought me 'ere. You 
see that scar ? " 

“ Very distinctly," said Harry, with what sounded like 
satisfaction. 

I “ She struck me, sir. She was riding with Mr. Glover 
and she lost her temper with the cob, but it was me she 
struck, and I vowed to make 'er pay. Next day I come 
across Mr. Glover looking for that there letter, but 'e didn't 
ask for it and I didn't give it. I thought it might come in 
useful some day." 

j “ Don't shout so," his master said. “ I can hear per- 

I fectly well what you say. You thought the letter would be 
j useful ? In what way ? " 

I Warren found some difficulty in getting back to his old 
I trail under the lash of this apparent indifference. 

I “I reckon she'll want it back, sir." 

1 


II 


336 The Third and Last Demand 

But Harry shook his head. 

I can assure you she won't. She sets no undue value 
on her own epistolatory powers. But the point, Warren, is 
still unexplained ; why do you return it so late ? " 

'' I pretty near forgot all about it, sir, till I come to town 
to see Joanna, and I see you two, and then the idea comes 
to me to ask her for a shop." 

Ah ! you traded on her aifection for Joanna. Well, we 
shall both be sorry to lose the girl, but if she means to stick 
to you and your fortunes, it's just as well we should sever 
our connection with her at once." 

The man saw, not only his vengeance, but various minor 
hopes of material advantage, slipping away. 

‘‘ She's promised us a wedding present," he said sulkily. 

But not the one you asked for," Harry supplemented, 
on a breath of inspiration. ‘‘ She thought fifty pounds a 
trifle too much, even for a favorite maid." 

Warren lost his remnant of self-control. 

It's damned unfair! " he broke out. You're to strike 
us and keep back our characters, and if we stand up to 
you, we're a play ; you're to get your bit of fun out of us. 
She said it was a joke once, but I didn't believe she meant 
it, but I'll stand no more British masters; I'll try another 
country, where maybe they'll take a man for what he's 
worth." 

The question is, what are you worth, Warren ? " 

The groom's eyes, falling before his master's, lit upon 
the crushed letter, and chagrin found vent in a last spurt of 
defiance. 

She's told you the story, but I doubt if she’s told you 
all. Perhaps, when I've gone, and you sit down to read 
that letter you're so mightily uncurious about, you won't 
smile so careless and pleasant. You didn't get far, sir, and 
— there's four sides to it," he finished maliciously. 

'' You really doubt this uncurious aspect of mine. Well, 
I'd better set your mind at rest, once for all." 

He lit a candle standing on the writing-table at his elbow, 
and held the paper in the flame. When nothing but a few 


I 


j The Third and Last Demand 337 

I blackened fragments remained, he turned to his companion 
I with a change of manner. 

You’d better go now, Warren.” 

There was more than advice in the utterance, and the 
man moved hastily in the direction of the door. 

With the handle between his fingers, and the passage in 
full view, he found courage to whine a last protest against 
! the treatment he had received. 

i “ After all, I did my duty, sir ; ’ow was I to know ladies 
and gentlemen wrote them sort of letters to everybody ? It 
I was my mistake.” 

‘‘Exactly, Warren — ^your mistake; and Mrs. Dorset 
allows me to bring it home to you in any fashion I may 
, think advisable. I’ve tried reason, but if you don’t clear 
out in half a second. I’ll try what we call brute force.” 

Warren took less than the allotted space of time to effect 
his final retreat, and Harry found himself alone with his 
discovery. 

Rapidly he recalled the few sentences, whose possible and 
probable significance he had till now held at bay. Merci- 
lessly he added to the sum of suspicion the memory of those 
occasions when Griselda had irritated him by a mysterious 
call upon his tolerance. There was the scene of the 
I autumn; he had called it ridiculous; now he called it by a 
harder name. There was the money — the fifty pounds, that 
he had flung, with such intuitive skill, into that fellow’s 
I surly face. He recalled the look of her as she had begged 
for it ; the strangeness of her manner when he had yielded 
it, with what, for him, was impulsive generosity. Oh! he 
began to understand — all — all ; even the return of it ; though 
the thought of a limit to her liability brought him no soft- 
ening of mood, his old estimate of her stood too high to 
allow him to recognize degrees in culpability as yet. 

Glover! He mused for some minutes over this man of 
ugly reputation; over the short and sordid story of his life 
and death. 

April ! The month stuck in his memory, and he recalled 
her letters of that date. They had been warm, passionate 


338 The Third and Last Demand 

even, and it was from this sinister flame that the spark 
had been struck which had influenced him so powerfully. 
He had not owned it; he had written stiffly, educationally, 
but inwardly he had been conscious of yielding to her in- 
fluence, and, from the moment of their reunion, he had 
agreed to let her temper at least the cruder tendencies in 
him. And he had yielded to a vulgar sorceress — to a pretty 
woman, with Venner blood in her veins, and Venner subtlety 
behind that dainty child's face he had been slowly learning 
to reverence and adore. 

She was false — there was the upshot of it; but she was 
his ; and he found a brutal pleasure in the knowledge that, 
if he might know no longer love and trust, he might still 
hurt her. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE CASE FOR THE DEFENSE 

There were but few nights when a small fire was not 
desirable, at least to Griselda, whose lines had always fallen 
much further south. But on this particular one it burnt 
cheerlessly, and only an occasional tongue of flame managed 
to force its way round the rather damp log in the middle 
of it. 

The two long windows, placed side by side at one end of 
the room, were open, and a pale remnant of daylight crept 
from each of them to mingle with the almost equally faint 
firelight. 

To this dim and depressing stage Harry returned so 
softly that it was only when he took his place on the arm 
of his wife’s chair that she became aware of his presence. 

‘‘No light, Griselda? ” he said calmly, and with a thump- 
ing heart she leant forward, waiting for the next flicker 
from the fire to illumine his face. 

When it came she shivered a little. 

“No. I don’t want the lamp just yet. But oh, how cold it 
is ! Just like a vault ; and you look just like the stone knights 
who lie on their stone tombs, with stone faces and stone 
hearts, caring nothing for the people who come to look at 
them. I’m frightened, Harry. You’re so near me and yet 
so terribly far away. What did he say — the man in the 
study ? ” 

“ Whatever he said. I’ll be bound he wishes now that he’d 
held his tongue. The letter is in the fire — at least it’s 
burnt.” 

“ Did you read it ? ” she whispered. 

“ The first few lines,” he answered curtly ; and she 
dropped a sigh. 


339 


340 The Case and the Defense 

‘‘ How like my luck ! The first few lines — ' I hate you 
and myself, and the beautiful pine-woods/ Was that all, 
Harry?’’ 

Not quite, Griselda. I read that you would never go 
to them again — ^you — ‘ who belonged to somebody else.’ I 
got as far as the great renunciation ; but you did go again, 
didn’t you? You went with the somebody else. They 
weren’t the same pine-woods, of course, and perhaps that’s 

why you evinced no sense of discomfort, or perhaps ” 

He stopped, aware of the wealth of irony invading his tone, 
and changed the key. ‘‘ What induced you to return the 
money ? ” 

I don’t know,” she answered wearily, unless it was 
the impulse that brought Judas back with his ill-gotten 
gains.” 

There was a spell of silence, then the gray melancholy in 
which they sat was shot with warmth and color; the log 
slipped, and the flames crept round and over it, throwing 
out bright shafts of light into the circle about the big chair. 

I’ll find it now,” said Griselda suddenly and gladly. 

"‘Find what — a new deception?” he said, but to deaf 
ears. 

“ It goes and comes,” she went on, spreading her hands 
to the cheery blaze. “ It was here such a little while ago — 
then it went out — now it’s coming back. Warren told you 
part of the story, but not all. I’m going to tell you the 
whole of it.” 

“ You think it advisable? For my part, I let a sleeping 
dog lie.” 

“ It’s not sleeping, if you mean your anger,” she retorted 
swiftly. “ You don’t impose on me by that air of self- 
control. I’ve deceived you — more than once, Harry, but — 
but I have my excuse.” 

He made no reply, only sat looking down at the carpet, 
and she knew that he saw nothing of the beautiful Persian | 
design; he saw, instead, a gruesome pattern of human | 
treachery. There was in this man, she remembered, no | 
safety-valve; his conception of dignity forbade him all vio- i 


The Case for the Defense 341 

' lence of expression. She looked forward, through aeons 
of time, watching his secret anger eat into that estimate 
of herself, built up with such laborious patience. He would 
never denounce, and he would never fully condone — unless 
— unless — she could perform the miracle. 

‘‘ You’re not going to listen,” she said wildly. ‘‘ You are 
only going to listen to those words of long ago said so 
thoughtlessly to somebody else.” 

The charge was true. He made no attempt to deny it. 
His mind was wrapped up in conjecture. He wanted to 
I listen to that detestable inner voice ; and what right had she 
*' to stop him? — to take so high and bold a stand? He meant 
to brood on the thought of her communion with some one 
else. It tortured his pride that any other should have 
enjoyed, for a day, for an hour, the freedom of that city, 
taken so carelessly, held so patronizingly, that city, that 
slowly but surely had laid its chains upon his free spirit. 
And because his pride forbade him to ask for the lines of 
limit her girlish recklessness might, or might not, have set, 
he now told himself that he should never be free from that 
! abominable whisper of suspicion. 

‘‘ You won’t look at me,” she said, turning her face back 
to the fire, ‘‘ but in common justice you must listen to what 
I say. When I was a little girl, I saw my home taken away 
by a law I couldn’t understand. Mama cried, but I was too 
angry to cry. I told myself that when I was bigger I should 
take it back. I didn’t in the least know how, but that was 
of no consequence. I used to feel then, and sometimes I 
feel now, that if you want a thing very desperately, you’re 
bound to get it. The longing creates it for you.” 

Her voice was gaining courage and her tongue speed. 

‘‘ Presently they sent me to school, Harry, and I forgot a 
good deal of my sense of wrong, or rather it took another 
form. It wasn’t The Court I wanted, but the power and 
the pleasure that generally goes with such houses. I wanted 
a front place, and I found one had to fight for it. Lots of 
the girls came from places even bigger and grander than 
my old home, and it seemed only natural to them that pen- 


342 The Case for the Defense 

niless, shabby little Griselda Southern should be made to 
fetch and carry for them. You can't guess how fascinating 
it was, upsetting the established order of things in a big 
school. There were plenty of soldiers in the Long Gallery, 
and they gave me their blood, I think, though they wouldn’t 
give me their acres. I liked fighting, as much for its own 
sake as for what one gained by it, and I had no objection 
to getting into hot water. You see, I had to replace that 
stolen house and all it stood for, and in time I found the 
secret I was looking for. I built houses that the law can’t 
take away, and I was always queen of them. It’s just as 
easy to be queen as goose-girl, if only you go the right way 
to work, and it’s far pleasanter. Of course it was only a 
kind of play-acting, but it seemed to satisfy all one’s 
childish demand for the exercise of power, and it really 
seemed to impress everybody. Even the teachers used to 
take me at my own valuation, to a great extent, and they 
always gave me the leading parts in the theatricals at the 
end of the term. There would have been such an appalling 
scene if they hadn’t, and I certainly had a talent for mim- 
icking the ways of grown-up people. I went through the 
junior school and through the senior school, getting more 
of my own way than you can possibly imagine, until we 
came to the last term. I was to play ' Rosalind,’ and I 
studied the part day and night; and at the very last, mama 
wrote to say I was to come and join her. I’ve told you this 
before, but I haven’t told you what a fund of unspent 
energy was in me when I came into that detestable house. 
There was nothing to do and I had been used to doing so 
much. There was nobody to toady me and I had been used 
to an admiring crowd at my heels. When I was nearly 
wild with boredom and disappointment, mama began to 
explain to me the exact meaning of our position. She had 
hinted at it often in her letters, but I never allowed myself 
to understand. She made the picture very vivid and very 
unpleasant. When I winced, she showed me the only door 
of escape, and, Harry, it was just the sort of door I liked 
best to force open. She told me that the house to which I 


The Case for the Defense 


343 

“ had come so unwillingly, was a stage, and the people on it 
" were too lazy and unenterprising to play the drama waiting 
for them. They called Alva the chief lady, but she was 
‘ nothing more than a doll, dressed up, put into certain posi- 
1 tions, void of any incentive. There was truth enough in 
,, these assertions to make me listen to more. And mama 
i began to flatter me. She told me that if I chose to take the 
, trouble, I could set all these puppets into motion. They 
|| seemed in want of a leader, and I had been accustomed to 
lead. The temptation was not to be resisted. She lent me 
I her emerald necklace, and I came down to dinner and began 
i to talk. Now comes the dreadful part. Alva was so kind 
j to me; you were so kind to me. You never guessed, either 
i* of you, that I angled for that kindness — for your pity. The 
! game was intolerable because so easy. Long before it was 
j over I began to be ashamed, but I couldn’t stop ; and here’s 
I my first excuse. From the moment you came near to me — 
no — even before that — from the very first, when I scowled 
j at you, like the spoiled schoolgirl I was, I cared. I was 
vexed when you turned away and looked at Alva. I wanted 
I you back. I couldn’t let her have you. She wasn’t real — 
I she was only a dream-lady. Any deliverer would do for 
I her. I tricked you ; I took you unfairly, but you were the 
j first lover, and he isn’t like any other, and — and — if we 
send him away, he never comes back.” 

Her voice faltered, and again she looked at him, but his 
glance was still for the carpet. 

I ‘‘ You’re telling me more than I bargained for,” he said, 

' after what seemed to her an interminable interval. We 
I haven’t reached the letter, much less explained it.” 

No. I’ve told you the first mistake, because all the 
others came out of it. I could never be at ease with you. 
'• I could never be my real self, because it wasn’t my real self 
;; you had yielded to. I daren’t speak frankly to you in case 
,i you should disapprove. But directly you were out of reach 
' you began to speak very frankly to me. I used to dread 
; your letters, after a time. They made it so plain that you 
I hadn’t wanted to marry Lady Southern’s daughter ; you 


The Case for the Defense 


344 

had meant to marry wisely. You had been worsted by an 
impulse — or was it by a face? In any case, I had taken 
your heart as a child takes a toy surreptitiously out of 
another child’s nursery, and my sense of guilt wouldn’t let 
me enjoy it. And the spring came, and I wasn’t as old and 
wise and serious as I had been imagining during those long, 
dark winter months. The days grew warm, and the buds 
broke into flowers and the birds into a rapture, and I 
couldn’t tell you that there was summer in my veins too, 
because you wrote of such different things : of patience and 
education and control. I had to curb my pen, but I couldn’t 
curb all the emotions in my heart. I was too young, and — 
and they were too old. The wine had to ferment, and — 
and the little cup broke. Oh! I wonder if you are going to 
understand.” 

There was no such promise in his still face, and she 
turned abruptly from it towards that kindly, instigating 
glow of firelight. 

'' I had to speak to some one. He came to Alva’s wed- 
ding. He looked so cool and clever and safe. You set so 
many limits and I felt that he would set none. I rode with 
him; I asked him questions, but always — always — do you 
hear? — I brought the answers back to fit them to my one 
puzzle. I thought that — understanding man, I should be 
able to understand you. In my curiosity I let him come 
too near, but it was near my lip, never near my heart. I 
let him in, as one lets a tourist into a great house, but he 
only saw the common rooms. He knew it; he knew my 
day with him was an act of truancy — that I would go 
back — that the spirit of me never really came. He was 
not at all sorry to lose that letter, with its ridiculous 
tale of exaggeration. It seemed to give him something 
of what I had denied. Are you going to understand, 
Harry? ” 

‘‘ I understand, a little late in the day, that at least four 
lives have been sacrificed to yours and Lady Southern’s 
pecuniary welfare. There is a proverb,” he added, his eyes 
rising at last to meet hers, from the Russian, I think. 


The Case for the Defense 


345 


! 


that insists even a bishop will steal when very hungry. I 
don’t doubt you two were very hungry when you plotted to 
rob me of my independence, but the law exacts its pound of 
flesh (shall we say spirit in this instance?) even from the 
bishop if it catches him, and you’re not asking me for the 
common form of forgiveness. You’re asking me for some- 
thing very like sympathy. You’ve shown me a little girl 
training herself up to go in a given direction ; now I’ll show 
you a boy, in process of formation by circumstance and 
natural temper, and then perhaps you’ll understand, in your 
turn, the difficulty of denying a barrier between the two. 
He was born in a back place — never knew any others but 
that did not tend to reconcile him to his obvious discom- 
forts. He, too, was determined to get a better one, but he 
went to work in another fashion. He had little imagination, 
and what he had he distrusted. He had no faith in wings. 
He had a natural antipathy to the butterfly; he distrusted 
its delicate beauty and despised the ephemeral quality of its 
happiness ; I’m not sure he didn’t think its existence a stain 
upon the morality of nature. His own battle with life was 
embarked upon in so different a spirit. By the sacrifice of 
his scant holidays, his scant amusements, those scant powers 
of imagination, he managed to article himself to ambition. 
He gave pretty nearly everything he had and got precious 
little back. He was abnormally poor and abnormally proud. 
Policy forced him to accept the crumbs from rich men’s 
tables, but they could hardly be expected to nourish an 
amiability of temper. When, eventually, fortune gave him 
what he had struggled for, he was embittered by his own 
education, and he found more caprice than generosity in the 
hand that endowed him. You see, his success was no sort 
of answer to his efforts, and the gift was snatched from 
others who could ill afford to lose it. He studied in a 
rough and cynical school, where one took unlimited kicks 
and struggled to convert them into limited halfpence. 
Given a sudden wealth of halfpence, he was disposed to 
retain with the bounty a warm memory of the force of the 
kicks. To put it another way. You remember the men 


346 The Case for the Defense 

who worked in the vineyard all through the heat of the 
day; they received their promised wages, and they were 
satisfied, until they found that the men who came in at the 
eleventh hour were receiving the same. Now that lesson 
never came home to me ; my sympathies were entirely with 
the complainants. You amused yourself for eleven hours 
out of the twelve, and in a fashion, it may be added, par- 
ticularly abhorrent to me ; and here you are, turning up to 
be paid on the same ratio as myself. You demand equality 
— sympathy — complete justification; but it isn’t in my 
power to give you these.” 

He was not ill-pleased to have found and expressed this 
line of argument, but he was puzzled by her mode of 
accepting it. 

‘‘Yes, I played for a time,” she said at length, “but not 
for so long as you suppose.” 

He lifted quizzical eyebrows, but she was staring past 
them, out towards a point of view yet vaguer than the one 
she had already exposed. 

“ There was our honeymoon. Tell me, did I ever really 
vex or disappoint you all those weeks, when we were so 
dependent on one another for our happiness ? ” 

“ No.” The admission was startled out of him. 

“ And yet my little girl was vastly different from your 
boy, on your own showing ! ” 

“ Well ? ” he said curiously. 

“ Somebody must have given up a good deal to let them 
play together so contentedly ; was it you ? ” 

He made no reply, only sat staring at that new expression 
on her face. What was she aiming at? How did she con- 
trive to elude the pillory, where she undoubtedly belonged, 
on more counts than one, it now transpired? 

“ Slowly, very slowly,” he found her saying, “ you used 
to let out your feelings and opinions and thoughts. Did 
you ever wish you had kept any of them back? Did you 
ever say to yourself afterwards, ‘ Was I wise to tell her 
this? Was it dignified to confess that? Was it a mistake 
to admit the other ? ’ ” 


The Case for the Defense 347 

After some consideration he gave her the absolution she 
, demanded. 

'‘No. I thought you honest and immature — careless but 
intelligent. This bolt came out of the blue,” he finished, 
with an effort to rally enmity. 

" You were happy then, in our German forest. I meant 
you to be happy ; ” and now there was pride in her accent. 

" And were you less so ? ” he demanded incredulously. 

“ No. But I worked for our happiness. I didn’t want 
to tell you this. It isn’t my place. I thought you would 
remember and tell yourself, when the first moment of anger 
I had gone. But you won’t and I must. It’s the case for my 
I defense. You say our happiness came naturally, and I am 
going to show that it did not ; that it could have been spoiled 
, many times a day. How could your dogged little boy be 
satisfied with the company of a butterfly? I was a butterfly 
a year ago. I wanted to flutter in the sun without calcula- 
tion ; I wanted my play-room ; I wanted the thousand and 
one fancies that children play with ; I wanted to see fairies 
I in the woodland and witches on the mountain ; I wanted the 
j tale of magic that makes life so unexacting and so interest- 
ing. And I had queer memories to encourage me — legacies 
, from father, most of them. We used to go into the woods 
together. We hunted for plants and flowers and little 
beasts, and he told me stories about their lives. I can’t 
recall a single fact, only one impression, always the same 
' impression, and it’s not an easy one to express. It had to 
do with the under-life of these cheery, simple things; it 
f! dealt with broken wings and buds that never came out, and 
! yet — it wasn’t a sad story. There was a champion in it, 
but he rode in darkness, guiding the hurt and the disap- 
pointed towards the sunshine that had passed them over. 
He infected me with a suspicion of presence that isn’t 
authorized by fact. Don’t frown at me; it’s hard enough 
I to find the figures I want, even in the stillness, in this red 
firelight. If I lose them, you’ll never have your chance to 
understand. You didn’t belong to father’s world. You 
belonged exclusively to prose. I had to make a choice. I 


348 The Case for the Defense 

had to belong to you or to my old fancies; and I chose to 
belong to you. Not without a struggle, though. When I 
went riding with Anthony the battle was raging. Until 
you came home I hovered round the decision. But from 
that day, when you came back to me with something warmer 
than patronage in your eyes, I belonged to you in every 
sense of the term. I said ' good-by ’ to that beloved play- 
room, and sat down to study. There were all the lost years 
to make up for, and it was no light task. I used to wake 
in the early morning, while you were sound asleep, and 
begin my lessons. There were birds in the trees outside, 
and they whistled the sweetest nonsense in at the windows 
— at least, it was nonsense according to the old code. They 
said, ' sweet-sweet,’ which used to mean ‘ I love you — I love 
you ’ — no more, no less. But in the lesson-book there was 
a longer and a harsher translation. ‘ I love you ’ means 
' come and be mine ’ ; and that means again, ' bear with 
me, share with me the pang as well as the pleasure of life ; 
give, and give, and give, till the pretty gay look of you has 
all gone, and the wooer calls elsewhere ; till his voice is no 
more for you, but for your children and your children’s 
children, and the countless myriads of creatures to come ! ’ 
And again, there were fire-flies in the hedges; I wanted to 
call them fairies’ lamps, as I had been used to do, but my 
grim teacher drove the fairies away and pointed to the 
lesson-book. Here was no note at all — only a glimmer ; but 
first the light was pale and entreating — a ' will you ? — will 
you? ’ then it was joyous — ‘ I will — I will,’ then it was pale 
again, as the glow was given off to others, and then no light 
at all — and — there was our circle again. We may be nothing 
but a link in a great chain, and the light must only lie on us 
for a little while. Out of the darkness we must come, and 
into the darkness we must go, and we must come and go 
willingly. Do you remember our journey to the Brocken? 
We climbed up and up, and always the mist grew thicker, 
until at the top there was nothing to be seen but a thick 
white curtain of vapor; but, as we stood looking into it, I 
saw the shapes of cities coming out, I saw towers and 


The Case for the Defense 349 

slender spires, and rows and rows of tiny houses with a light 
in every window, like those we had seen on our first night 
in the mountains. I wanted to call it a city of legend. I 
wanted to people it with dream men and women, who ask 
nothing of you except a mysterious thrill, but I looked once 
more into the lesson-book, and I found it was the city of 
life. The people were real, and they were crying to me; 
they had come out of the darkness, or they were waiting 
for the light, and they were frightened and weak, and I had 
to promise to help them. It was the strangest promise. It 
had no shape, and yet it pressed heavily on me all the way 
home and all through the days and weeks that followed. It 
was a demand so vast that I could not measure or analyze 
it — at least, not for a long time. Now add to this exorbitant 
demand the multitude of common daily tasks you asked of 
me: I was your friend, your confidante, your housekeeper, 
and you were satisfied — more, you were happy. That happi- 
ness was my gift to you; it was my atonement. Under a 
hundred little acts of sacrifice, under hundreds of legal 
retorts that I kept back, I buried the foolish girl who be- 
trayed you ; and now you bring her back and fasten her to 
me, as poor Francesca was fastened to her fellow-sinner, in 
the book we read in the winter. Don't you see that you 
fasten the true to the false, the dead to the living? Won't 
you see that there are grades of wifehood, and that I gave 
you more than the law demanded ? I paid you back, Harry ; 
indeed — indeed I did ! " 

And on the childish utterance her voice broke. She put 
out appealing hands, but she was swift to foresee his rejec- 
tion of them, and she let them fall into her lap. 

Again her expression was new to him. Much of the 
youth, all of the wistfulness went out of the mobile features. 
Darkly and fiercely her eye looked into his, hunting the 
answer to this incredible repulse. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


DREAM-PEOPLE 

'' Well? ’’ she said, with so sudden and complete a change 
of accent as literally to startle him ; ‘‘ you must have some- 
thing to say, though it isn’t what I hoped for.” 

There were no hidden tears behind the challenge of her 
glance, and, involuntarily, he thought of the sword of which 
she had once spoken : It will flash out, some day, for a 
good cause or a bad one.” It was out now, and against him 
and a cause, of whose probity he was far from convinced. 

But he was not ready for recantation, and he was thank- 
ful for this call to action, thankful for the opportunity of 
drowning the sound of that still, small, treacherous voice, 
that had so nearly, at one moment, responded to her appeal. 

He could not trust his half-hearted antagonism so near 
her magnetic person, and he moved abruptly from his place, 
to pace the room — that portion of it from which he could 
still watch each movement of her tense young body, each 
play of expression on her virile face. 

‘‘ I don’t see what you could have hoped for,” he began 
impatiently. '' It was excellent imagery, but I’ve been 
brought up, as I showed you, to consider facts only. I like 
my lines straight, if a trifle narrow. I like to feel one can 
lean on them without fear of their snapping, even if one has 
to forego the chance of their turning into flowering staves 
under one’s hands. You were quick to detect the unreality 
in Alva, quick to set her out of the material running, quick 
to draw a line of severance between her inflammations of 
mind and your own, but it’s precisely that line you don’t 
make clear to me. Your lesson-book is far too full of 
colored pictures to be really instructive or reliable, to my 
thinking.” 


350 


Dream-People 351 

He looked, almost eagerly, for some sign of dismay, but 
she evinced none. She only leant forward in her seat, 
planting her elbows on her knees, and dropping her chin 
into the cup formed by her two outspread hands. 

'' Go on,'' she said, so quietly as to prick him into some 
degree of genuine indignation. 

Don't suppose I'm denying the skill in your defense. 
You've developed extraordinarily since the night when you 
told me of the horrid box in which fortune had trapped you, 
and persuaded me so easily to open the door for you. 
You've grown from an astute child into a remarkably intelli- 
gent woman; from a daring child into a remarkably auda- 
cious woman; from a pretty child," he added, stung into 
positive brutality by her unwinking gaze, into a remark- 
ably beautiful woman. I don't doubt the majority of men 
would give you absolution on any one of those counts, but 
it's my misfortune that I can't. You don't want humbug, 
so I'm bound to tell you that you're not the wife of my free 
choice ; you're too tolerantly constructed. It's the only sort 
of accusation I bring against you ; it's the only sort of pun- 
ishment I've got to offer to your duplicity, and — if you can 
evade it — so much the better for you." 

Again he looked for a flag of distress and surrender, and 
again she disappointed his expectation. 

‘‘ You grant me intelligence, courage, beauty," she said, 
after an interval. It seems to me one ought to be able to 
do a great deal with that trio, if — if there were no inner 
curb." 

The keen scrutiny of him was shot by a new expression, 
but it was warlike expression, without a doubt. The sword 
was moving rapidly, and, he began to fear, dangerously. 
Into the blue and childish glance there crept a shade of 
cunning, and, fascinated, he came to a halt opposite her 
chair. 

‘‘ What do you mean ? I don't understand you or your 
attitude." 

She actually laughed. That half scale of musical notes 
that had so often delighted his ear by its purity of tone and 


352 Dream-People 

its ease of delivery affected him very differently now. 
There was plenty of music in it still, but it was weird, 
unpleasantly suggestive music, and her small white teeth 
gleamed out at him with sinister effect. He thought of 
some wild animal driven into a corner, preparing to battle 
for its remnant of a chance of life and liberty. 

Suppose, just suppose, Harry, that, having nothing left 
to gain by discretion and subservience, I should throw both 
to the wind. Suppose I play the witch, as you won't love 
or trust the woman. Suppose I ' run amok,' like the poor 
Indian fanatics, and shoot down the captains of the guard, 
with their gold lace and their serene sense of superiority. 
Are you wise — are you sure that you are wise, to drive me 
back upon that second self that sleeps in all of us? " 

“ The witch ! " he rejoined, with what scorn he could mus- 
ter at such short notice ; I don't believe in witches, as you 
know." 

'' I think I could make you believe in mine," she said, her 
head going back and her hands falling once more into her 
lap. She doesn't ride a broomstick or stir strange herbs 
over a cauldron by the light of the moon, but she brews 
trouble and poison for all that, if put upon her mettle. Oh, 
there are tales one could rewrite — I've heard them and for- 
gotten them; there are lives one could relive — I've seen 
them in a portrait upon the wall ; there are passions buried 
deep, desperation could dig up! Intelligence! Audacity! 
Beauty! You give me all three with that superb air of dis- 
dain for them, and for me too ; but have you forgotten that 
women have destroyed cities and preserved nations on a 
single one of them? You touch me with your cold finger 
of disapproval, and you think to set all my faculties out of 
action. I tell you," she went on, with substantial increase 
of excitement, “ that you do something entirely different ; in- 
stead, you set into action all the malign powers that I re- 
strained out of my love for you, out of deference to your 
disposition. Only a few minutes ago I was ready to put 
my hands between yours as foolishly, as passively, as any 
slave-girl; but you shook them off. You set me free, and 


Dream-People 


353 

you never tamed me. I tamed myself, to please the boy 
who drew his lines straight and narrow; but now I'm Gri- 
selda again. Don’t hope to class me, for I’m not a Southern 
or a Venner, not even a wife and mother ; I’m just a woman, 
baited too far by injustice, going back to her first nature, as 
the little wolf cub stolen in infancy, runs back, in the end, 
to her savage dam in the forest. Now what have you to 
say to such an elemental creature ? ” 

‘‘ I’m inclined to say hysteria.” 

That’s an evasion. I’m calmer than you are — more 
decided, anyway.” 

‘‘ Then I’ll say nothing.” 

And that’s merely running away,” she commented dryly. 

Is it my line of division you’re forcing me to define?” 
he asked, conscious that she had closed to him several 
possible ways of retreat on which the eye of personal dig- 
nity had been fixed furtively. 

Yes.” 

The blunt monosyllable served, at least, to spur him to- 
wards brutality again. 

Oh, it isn’t a serious one, Griselda. You implied that 
you made a mountain out of a molehill in that letter — well, 
you’re doing much the same thing again. The line’s no 
thicker and no longer than the average one drawn between 
a man and woman who have enjoyed or endured a year of 
one another’s unadulterated society.” 

Her fancied that she winced ever so little, and he spoke 
again with more confidence. 

I '' For a year, more or less, we all expect the impossible ; 
expect to play the exception to the prosaic rule. In spite of 
my education, in spite of temperament. I’ll confess that I’ve 
had thoughts of you that would never bear the microscope 
f of the philosopher. Only to-night, before dinner, I was the 
; victim of an emotion so peculiar and so arbitrary, that if 
you’d asked me for five hundred, instead of fifty, pounds, I 
believe I should have given it. It’s the look of you, I can 
only suppose. That mock air of surrender, that innocent, 
imploring curl of the lip ; your mother has the same, or she 


354 Dream-People 

had once. YouVe very like her — far more like her than I 
imagined. In twenty years, I suppose, one will be able to 
hear the serpent hissing where the sweet bird sings, but, 
unfortunately, the warning note sounds too late.’’ 

Would she never cry? Would she never collapse and 
leave unguarded one of those lines of retreat his vanity 
sought so desperately? She sat immovable, but tense, he 
thought, with passion. She still looked at him, and, in the 
stillness of the room, in the silence she delayed so long to 
break, it seemed to his nervous fancy that the veil spread so 
mercifully between the eye and every human ingredient was 
dissolving; hers seemed to pierce the bulwark of his arti- 
ficial resistance, to stare with that cruel fixity directly into 
the chaos of which he was so conscious. 

‘‘You want me to cry,” she said at last. “You want 
me to drop back in my chair limp and helpless and wretched, 
under the lash of your reproaches. You want to be able to 
come to me and say : ‘ I forgive you ; we strong men al- 

ways forgive the small and the feeble, just as we forgive 
the spaniel fawning at our knees his sins of commission and 
omission.’ But the second self I told you of won’t let me 
fawn or cry. It compels me to fight you and your unfair 
attitude.” 

“ Unfair ? ” he echoed with heat, and drew closer ; but 
she met his angry face with an air of exaltation. 

“ I’ve lived,” she said, clearly and deliberately, “ and you 
haven’t. I’ve been into the deep waters, while you rocked 
comfortably in that harbor you chose for yourself in boy- 
hood, the harbor where one doesn’t feel too much motion 
of the waves. I’ve wrestled with the sea-monsters; you 
contented yourself with saying, ‘ sea-monsters are extinct.’ 
I told you of the little cup that broke when the wine fer- 
mented, but I drank the wine for all that, every drop of it, 
even the dregs, though there was the chance of death in 
them. I’ve been very near the man with the scythe, Harry. 
When you were asleep last winter, he used to shake me 
awake, to ask if I were afraid; then this second self used 
to come hurrying up out of the darkness to say ‘ no ’ to him. 


Dream-People 355 

If it could say ' no ’ to that grim visitor, it could say ‘ no ’ 
to you. You can't hurt me as you used to do, because 
you're nothing to me now, and I don't believe you're any- 
thing to yourself either." 

She left him, he found, little to say, between her subtlety 
of instinct and the uncompromising quality of her revolt. 

You're forcing me to ask you for forgiveness? " he said, 
uncertainly. 

‘‘Yes, for you trifled with my spirit; I only trifled with 
your position." 

“ And everything is to be forgiven to the spirit of license, 
nothing allowed to the spirit of limitation. Your demand 
seems to me too big for its shoes, considering, as one must 
consider in this world, the actual circumstances of the case.'’ 

“ It wasn't a very big demand at first," she said simply. 

“ Your eyes are full of hatred," he objected further. 

“ They were full of tears a little while ago." 

Irritably he moved again, throwing vacillating glances at 
her rigid figure, her resolute face. 

“ Leave the line alone," he broke out at last. “If it 
hasn't any substance in it, it's bound to dissolve of itself in 
time." 

“ That would be a good way out for you," she said, with 
caustic emphasis, “ but I don't want to let you out like that, 
with all the old flags of autocracy flying. Leave your line of 
division for another hour, and it will swell into a barrier 
that you will never be able to recross. And don't make the 
mistake of thinking that I shall be behind it, crying and 
repining, for I tell you — I warn you, that it is you who will 
be alone — shut out. Now do you understand the reason of 
my resistance? I shall have my boy. I shall have a hos- 
tage for your fair treatment, or else — a companion in mis- 
fortune. You've forgotten the child — you've forgotten the 
nature of the bond with me; you were so absorbed by the 
one between us. He is mine, all mine, for these first years. 
His mind's a green garden — my garden. I struggled to 
keep all the weeds out of it and all the happy little singing 
birds in ; it was to be a place of peace and good-will. It can 


35^ Dream-People 

be something very diflferent/' she added, and again that sug- 
gestion of adult and evil experience inflamed the features of 
youth with a baneful effect. 

Griselda ! In his appalled face, in his voice, hoarse 
and unfamiliar, she could read at length his recoil from 
that intolerable pose of dispassionate yet bitter criticism. 

Ah, you shrink now,'' she went on triumphantly, ‘‘ I'm 
touching intimate and valuable stuff. You're frightened 
now. It's I who have the power and the will to hurt. You 
took advantage of my cause when it was weak and uncertain 
how to defend itself, and now I take advantage of yours, 
which is a thousand times weaker. You knew all the time 
that it was the truth I gave you, that I was honest from the 
moment I came to you, but your prejudice, your pride, that 
fastidious form of education you chose, wouldn't allow you 
to say so. You gave me to these unnatural and brutal 
thoughts of passion and retaliation, as cowards fling their 
children to the wolves, hoping to check the deadly pursuit. 
The children are gone, torn, dead; those kindly, pretty 
children you used to like to play with in your leisure hours. 
They won't come back. You'll call for them; you'll want 
them, but they've passed out of your circle of influence. 
And the sacrifice of them won't even be of use, for the 
wolves will follow you again; they'll tear you, too, in the 
end, and Tm glad. I want you torn — out of your com- 
placency, out of your insufferable egoism." 

It was impossible to offer platitudes, however conciliatory 
in nature, to such a fury as now inspired her mood, and, 
with a sense of defeat he turned from her again and made 
his way to the far end of the room, into the seclusion of one 
of the open windows. 

His line of division assuredly began to look ridiculous 
beside the one she had roused herself to define; his was to 
have been washed out in her tears, ten minutes or so after 
he had relieved his temper by drawing it — but — she refused 
to shed any tears. 

It was a relief, almost a necessity, to look out into the 
placidity of the dim garden, to inhale the sweet and sooth- 


Dream-People 357 

ing scent drifting up from the invisible flower-beds. It was 
a relief to see nothing distinctly. Spectral and fantastically 
beautiful, the shapes of the trees loomed out of the dark- 
ness; their long feathery arms trembled at intervals, under 
the breath of a light and fitful wind; the lawn was like a 
silver carpet, so ephemeral in quality that it was impossible 
to distinguish the point at which it melted into the dull blue 
of the summer night. Here was absence of all assertion. 
In such an atmosphere it was inevitable that his hold upon 
antagonism, never altogether secure, should relax yet 
further, that the echo of her voice should sound again on 
the still air, and sound arrestingly. 

“ I wanted to call it a city of legend, but I didn't do it. 
I looked into the lesson-book and it was the city of life." 

There was life hidden in the almost motionless garden; 
there were a thousand eyes, bright and bold as hers, watch- 
ing him out of its depths ; they too seemed to be awaiting his 
decision, his recantation, not with anxiety of curiosity, but 
with the same passionate confidence that pressed so poig- 
nantly upon his pride. 

Again the voice, with its incongruous ring of childhood, 
beat its argument into his understanding. 

“ I worked for our happiness ; you think it came naturally, 
but it didn't. It could have been spoiled many times a 
day." 

An instinct, smothered, not destroyed, rose to corroborate 
the sincerity of the vaunt. He saw her lip quiver and close 
upon some retort to which he had unquestionably laid him- 
self open. He had been content, at the time, to call the 
silence her resignation of the point of advantage, an igno- 
rance of the methods of polite warfare. Now he saw it for 
what it had assuredly been — atonement — the payment of 
that old debt, fretting to a sensitive conscience. He winced 
and looked anotjier way, but only to find recrimination in a 
yet more malignant form. 

“ You’re nothing to me ; I don't believe you’re anything to 
yourself." 

The accusation had truth enough in it to sting. Her vital 


358 Dream-People 

girl brought blood to the cheek of his priggish boy. She 
might be — she was — faulty, and perhaps not fully civilized, 
but it was life she battled with, not affectations. She must 
have been driven far into the fastnesses on her pleasure- 
loving nature, he now paused to remember, to find and pro- 
duce those similes he had presumed to ridicule. Even from 
the first they had affected his judgment, and it had cost him 
an effort to deny them their right to vitality. They were 
about him now, like the flowers of a deeply-rooted religion 
springing up in unexpected places. 

He became aware of movement, aware that she had left 
her seat and was behind him, almost within touch. It was 
a relief to know that she must be looking out with him into 
the shadowy world outside, breathing with him that sweet, 
soothing scent that acted like a drug upon the violence of 
human nature. She, too, would find it hard to be angry, to 
be self-centered, under the benign spell brooding so near to 
them. 

'' I want you back,” he said suddenly, sharply, but with- 
out turning. ‘‘ As a witch, or a tiger-cat— as what you 
please, Griselda, but — I must have you back.” 

'' They burn the witches in your country, and they chain 
up the wild beasts ; I'll only come back to liberty — and love.” 

Insensibly her voice softened on the last word, and it 
brought him round to face her. He put out eager hands, 
but she raised her own with a gesture of repudiation he was 
afraid to disobey. 

‘‘ Not yet, not so easily and quickly. I'm bound to come 
directly you ask me to ; but I must have fair terms, for the 
sake of others as well as myself. You're retracting tacitly, 
but you must retract openly.” 

'' Find me the terms of surrender,” he said. 

But she shook her head, both at the words and at the 
accent, with its slight inflection of levity. 

'' You must find them for yourself. They must be your 
words, not mine.” 

Shall I say I was imperfectly educated ? ” he began ten- 
tatively, and saw her muscles relax yet a little more, as 


Dream-People 359 

though she resigned another degree of her animosity. 

That I heard nothing in that first school in the mountains 
except the bell for breakfast? Would you be satisfied with 
that?’’ 

The ghost of a smile flickered into her eyes and out 
again. 

It might satisfy me — ^but — it doesn’t quite satisfy my 
sex.” 

That I’m afraid of you,” he went on more confidently, 
drawing inspiration and generosity from her softened 
aspect. Afraid of those hidden and malign powers 
you’ve dug up to-night — afraid, mortally afraid, of that 
second self — afraid, too, of those myths and bogies I’ve 
made such persistent game of. If I were to admit a first 
consciousness of unreality and mythicalness in myself — a 
sense at all events of incompletion and distrust ; would such 
confessions bring you back? ” 

'' Back to you ? — yes — but not back to my old condition,” 
she answered mournfully. I can’t answer as I used to, 
like a ventriloquist’s doll. You used to hypnotize me into 
saying what you wanted to hear. Husbands and children 
don’t look just as they used to do. I don’t want to be tied 
too firmly to them. It isn’t safe. Life used to be a giant 
toy, now it’s a giant wheel; if you go near, if you touch 
it with you finger, the finger is torn off, and you go maimed 
all your days. I want to feel less. I’d like to be a flower,” 
she added wistfully, “ coming up without a pang and going 
away again without a fear. I want to give nothing but a 
sweet scent and a pretty color and a bud or two, and to take 
nothing in return but the air and the sunshine, and a tiny 
patch of brown earth. I’m not brave as I used to be ; the 
pluck goes with the ignorance — more’s the pity ! I want to 
be beaten on by wind and rain, not by these terrible exact- 
ing human passions. I think I’d like best of all to be a 
mermaid, with half a human shape, and a few human habits 
to keep me occupied ; it must be lovely to sit on a rock by 
moonlight and comb your hair, and sing and call to the 
sailors on the Rhine — only, they must never come.” 


360 Dream-People 

Grateful for the unmistakable decrease of tragedy in her 
last phrases, he sounded the light note yet more decidedly. 

And while you comb your hair and sing to those in- 
attentive sailors, what becomes of me and my boy ? ” 

The smile hovered against her will, it seemed, about the 
tremulous mouth. 

You’re both to sit upon the beach and mourn, and 
mourn, and mourn. I’m to begin and care very little, but 
you are still to care a great deal.” 

‘‘ Show me a less fantastic figure,” he begged ; show me 
a dimple — the one I’ve always given way to.” 

Show me this, show me that,” she mocked, but now with 
no sincerity of anger. '' Always the mountebank, always 
your dancing-girl, to be shaken before taken, to be petted, 
patronized, bullied as your mood exacts; to cater year in, 
year out, to your call for light refreshment. Listen.” 

'' To more legends of our infancy? Let’s bury the chil- 
dren with the hatchet,” he suggested, fencing once more 
with his ancient enemy. 

^‘No; to the clock. It’s striking twelve. Midnight, 
Harry ; ‘ the hour when graves give up their dead,’ when 
you must give up your secret; the hour when the mas- 
queraders take off their dominoes ; you must take off yours ; 
I must see the face behind.” 

She laid her arms about his neck, but deliberately rather 
than tenderly ; they set a certain distance which he did not 
attempt to reduce. 

'' It’s the face of a monster,” he said presently, influenced 
by the quality of her scrutiny. He took a dozen wives as 
carelessly, as immorally, as any potentate of the East, and 
now he finds behind each veil, not the slave he bargained 
for, but an exacting mistress. He’s aptly punished, and 
you’re well revenged. Don’t move; don’t alter your ex- 
pression, and I’ll find more to tell you — further and blacker 
depths of profanity to expose.” 

But with a cry of what sounded like terror, she broke the 
spell that urged him into confession, and laid a hand across 
his lips. 


Dream-People 361 

No, no. Put the domino back. Pve seen enough ; IVe 
heard enough. I must fight it out with my barbarian in 
the dark. I must have my tale of magic. It isn’t in the 
forest or in the play-room ; it isn’t even in the heart of an 
ignorant child, though it’s there, I think, that the seed is 
sown — it’s here, in your mysterious and sometimes cruel 
demand on me, in my children’s demand on me ; it’s hidden 
in the daily life that seems to run so simply and monoto- 
nously from meal to meal, from pinafore to shroud. I 
mustn’t talk of it any more or it will evaporate, and it has 
to brighten the way for a great many people. And now I 
can see the Long Gallery that fortune took away when I 
was a little girl, and it’s longer than ever ; such a mighty row 
of lords and ladies, and they care nothing for the law of en- 
tail; they’re all looking down to smile or frown on us, 
begging us to carry on the line to keep it straight.” But 
here a flippant thought checked her intensity; the dimple 
came again ; the blue eyes began to twinkle. The straight 
line, Harry — I’ll have to let you draw it after all ; but oh, 
what a straight and uncompromising line it is ! ” 

She leant forward, curving her arms till she lay ensconced 
in his, her head nestling into the hollow of his neck. 

You’ll always be more or less rigid,” she whispered 
from her shelter, and I must always be content to wind 
myself about you, breaking the sharpness of the line; no 
more than the flower I sighed to be; no more than a 
climbing rose about a chill iron pillar.” 

‘‘ Metal is as slow to cool as to ignite,” he whispered back ; 
“ couldn’t my climbing rose find comfort in that thought ? ” 
He angled for some further sweeter word of capitula- 
tion; he bent his ear closer to catch it, and found the lobe 
fast between her small sharp teeth ; their impress tightened 
until he was compelled to laugh and wince. 

‘‘ Your rose has common thorns,” she said, releasing him 
and leaning back to study the effect of this unexpected 
manoeuvre. ‘‘ She has to prick where and when and how she 
can. You’re not often near enough to feel her protest 
against absolute monarchy. Have I hurt you ? ” 


362 Dream-People 

There’s more bewilderment than pain,” he answered, 
rubbing the wounded ear. I battle with a visionary, yield 
to a shrew; I came up for trial before a row of preter- 
naturally shrewd and pitiless jurymen, and Fm found 
guilty of murder in the first degree; but when I get up with 
knocking knees to confront the man in the black cap, there’s 
nothing more alarming on the judge’s bench than the little 
wolf-cub you alluded to, giving sentence of punishment after 
the fashion of its primitive kind. Are we dream-people, 
Griselda? Is this a dream-quarrel? — and, if so, whose 
quarrel? as Alice inquired so pertinently in Wonderland?” 

‘‘ Dream-people ! ” she echoed, shaking off the pleasant 
lethargy invading her senses. ‘‘ With what scorn you speak 
of them! as though to be fast in the flesh, to be tied to a 
thousand limits, were actually something to brag about. No 
wonder they laugh so weirdly when they catch us alone in a 
dark corner; no wonder they play rather cruelly with our 
fears and susceptibilities ; they’ve plenty of insults to avenge. 
Dream-people I Why, they’re the legions of all those who 
‘ have been,’ and ‘ will be,’ while we are no more than the 
tiny temporary army of ‘ what is.’ They’re the essence of 
all the moods and passions that have licked the world into 
its present shape, and we’re only the creatures bound to 
accept that shape, bound to get our living off what they’ve 
established. We tear them into ribbons with our tongues; 
we lash them with our doctrines; we cut them up, times 
out of number, with every new scientific instrument we dis- 
cover — and the pieces always form again! You’d expect 
that to teach us respect and restraint, but not a bit of it. 
Oh, it’s impious, it’s degrading and ridiculous, to class and 
condemn what we can’t fathom or influence. These forces 
have the power to pass through and out of us, raising the 
hair on our heads, turning our blood hot and cold ; they’re 
everything and nothing; they’re everywhere and nowhere. 
When you said to-night that you were conscious of unreality 
in yourself, you seemed suddenly to expand, to touch hands 
with these emancipated dream-people, to give up something 
petty and personal, and absorb, in exchange, something vast 


Dream-People 363 

and portentous. But you’re hiding a smile — or is it a yawn ? 
Well, here’s my last word, truly the last: it’s these dream- 
people who urge us into real communion with one another. 
We were very near divorce when they stepped in and 
snatched the cheque from me, and defied Warren, and set 
us at each other’s throats, and made this peaceful room 
hideous with passion. They brought me into your arms to- 
night, and you mustn’t laugh at them any more than you 
would laugh at the priest who lays your wife’s hand in 
yours.” 

It’s uncommonly pretty logic ; but how are you going to 
prove the truth of it ? ” 

She was quick to recognize and to respond to this polite 
but peremptory summons to earth. 

Her face curled up roguishly, dropping, with its gravity, a 
dozen years. 

‘‘ You think you’ve silenced me; you think you’ve set me 
the impossible last task that the evil genius in legend 
always sets the long-suffering heroine; but I shall accom- 
plish it, as surely as she always did. To prove the truth 
of my logic to a sceptic of your order is the easiest thing in 
the world ; I’ve only got to borrow the argument of the man 
who swore to prove that the moon was made of green cheese. 
He said, ‘ Either it is, or it isn’t ; well, we know it isn’t, 
therefore it is.’ ” 


THE END 


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